


Harry Potter, Wardsmith

by twistedmiracle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Draco is also super hot, Draco is insecure, Happy Ending, Harry is a Gentleman, Harry totally notices, M/M, Narcissa's homophobia gets in the way, Neville too, TM's drabbles, but Hermione to the rescue, but not permanently, fancy magic, sexist crap, that Narcissa and Hermione experience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:54:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24674935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedmiracle/pseuds/twistedmiracle
Summary: Draco senses a falseness in The Manor's wards, so he calls upon the very best Wardsmith to help him get to the bottom of it. He gets that, and a great deal more, in the end.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Narcissa Malfoy/ OMC
Comments: 10
Kudos: 80





	Harry Potter, Wardsmith

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** They aren't mine, they belong to the clever Scottish lady. I just bend them and love them. Please don't smack me for playing. It isn't like I am going to earn any money from this!
> 
> Originally written for the DracoHarry100 community, in 100 word chunks. New prompts each week!  
> http://dracoharry100.dreamwidth.org/

“That’s… microscopic,” Harry said. He’d chased hours before discerning the perforation in Draco’s wards.

“But real.” Draco slumped between two disapproving portraits.

“Against the western wall, too.” Harry said grimly. “That increases its significance at sunset, when it’s most dangerous anyway.”  


“At least Mother is in Johannesburg,” Draco said miserably.  


“That is good,” Harry agreed. “But you shouldn’t be here, either.” He checked his watch. “It’s too late to get a hotel. Stay at mine tonight.”  
Nodding, Draco moved to pack an overnight bag. Blushing furiously, both men looked intently at the floor. Thus, neither saw the other’s pink cheeks.

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Harry flicked on every light, flooding the entryway and greatroom. Draco squinted.

“I hope this only ranks as a small inconvenience,” Harry murmured, leading Draco toward his guest bedroom. “We do have to share the bathroom. This place doesn’t really have a singular master bedroom, but I just… love the location,” he trailed off, blushing. Apparently embarrassed?

“It seems very remote?” Draco said. “But it’s so dark right now….”

“I own six hectares,” Harry agreed. “Six extremely remote, easily warded, deeply hidden hectares. With a house smack dab in the center.”

“I’m honored to be permitted,” Draco said, slightly overcome.

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In Harry’s blue and green spare room, Draco dropped his modest overnight bag on the wide, squashy bed. He turned toward the American-style quilts on the walls, the framed crayon art signed “Teddy,” the enormous bay window overlooking only moonless night.

Harry opened the door to the sparkling bathroom: long and thin, there was a door at the other end. Harry led through, and opened it. “My room,” he pointed. “I’ll be close by tonight.”

Entering, Draco saw Harry’s room and bed were the same size and shape as the guest’s. “A poor master bedroom,” he murmured, then blushed deeply.

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“I know,” Harry answered, his own cheeks flushing. “But HillSide has everything I need. In a house, I mean. Including my staunchest wards.”

Standing tall, Draco looked Harry in the eye and took a calculated risk. “I value your professional skills, but I hope you won’t feel offended if I admit my nervousness remains.”

“I understand,” Harry rushed to reassure. “You’ve genuine concerns. People really are out to get you. But we’re out here, alone, completely cut off from the world, just the two of us. I promise you that.”

Draco did a poor job of hiding his scarlet reaction.

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“I didn’t mean I’d take advantage!” Harry’s embarrassment leaked all over his face. “I’m only saying no one’s ever found HillSide, or broken my wards. People have tried, but they always do a poor job. You’re safe here.”

Draco blanched. “Are you sure? Death Eaters have tried? It would be easy to guess who I hired, where I am. Would you hear if I called out?” He wrung his hands once, then put his hands in his pockets. “Could we keep the doors between us open?”

“A worthy idea, but you make good points.” Harry stared at the ceiling briefly.

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“Just opening doors might be inadequate. Someone talented’s clearly after you. Extra caution’s not wrong.” Harry looked sideways, apparently worried how Draco might respond.

“What are you suggesting?”

“You could share… my bed?”

“Harry?!” Draco gasped, hope and nerves warring to control his face.

“I won’t press my advantage!” Harry yelped. “I’ll show you!” He manhandled Draco into the bathroom and closed the door. Moments later he reopened it, and Draco saw his meaning. Harry wore heavy woolen pajamas; he was covered wrist to ankle.

“I’d be a poor guardian indeed if you were hurt on my watch,” Harry stammered.

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“I, all right,” Draco said, flustered and hopeful. “I brought heavy woolen nightclothes as well. But I need to warn you, I’m a poor sleeper when I’m apprehensive. If I were sleeping alone tonight, I’d cast multiple charms to help me fall asleep. They might disturb your rest.”

“What charms?”

Draco looked at the floor. “ _Calor. Vapor._ Mostly _perdepso_.”

“Oh!” Harry perked up. “Is that all? I give great back rubs, Draco! Much better than an old charm.”

He cracked his knuckles with relish, and Draco winced discreetly.

“By the time I finish your massage, you’ll sleep like a rock!”

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_Calor: heat. Vapor: steam. Perdepso: press._

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“You don’t have to make those, er, sounds,” Harry murmured. He was hard inside his pajamas from Draco’s moans and silk skin. He’d started out sitting on Draco’s arse, but now he was up on his knees, avoiding contact.

“Can’t much help it,” Draco replied. “Massage pushes air from my lungs.”

“Should I, er, stop?” Harry asked, wondering what answer he preferred.

“If you wish?” Draco said, sheepish. “This is awfully nice of you. I’m sure I could sleep now. This was very smart.”

“Er,” Harry hedged. He wasn’t sure how to stand without revealing his erection. “M’not tired yet.”

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Five minutes more, and Draco snuffled into the mattress. “Sleep,” he managed.

“Mm?” Harry responded, still unsure how to avoid sending an unmistakable, unintended, surely undesirable message about his sexual interest. Not that he knew how to make this erection go down without coming, or being further from Draco than his house allowed.

“Brush your teeth, whatever,” Draco mumbled. “Then, sleep?”

Swallowing hard, nodding, deciding, Harry rose, pushing down on Draco’s shoulders, but keeping his secret. Then he rolled away, feeling simultaneously stupid and clever, and snuck into his bathroom to wank hurriedly. This would take no time at all.

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Harry came so fast he thought he might deserve an award. Snorting at his stupidity, he washed his hands, pulled up his pajamas, brushed his teeth and tiptoed back into his bedroom.

Draco was already breathing deep, soft and slow, and Harry lay on his side, taking a moment to appreciate Draco’s beauty. He looked ethereal: an angular, sharpened angel. His skin was translucent. In the relaxed clutch of sleep there was no pink on him, just yellow hair and white skin.

Eventually he realized he didn’t want to need another wank, so he snuggled down to await his dreams.

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Harry awakened first. Relieved, he crept silently from bed toward his home’s nerve center. He opened the spells and cameras and began to carefully examine all his perimeters. He was as thorough as he knew to be, but – surprised – he found nothing amiss. Both his Muggle and magical methods all reported in clean and clear. For HillSide.

The bugs he’d dropped at Malfoy Manor, however, told a different story. What had been a tiny breach had been stealthily enlarged. A wizard could – and had? – gone right through. Harry had been right to remove his client from the house.

Fucking hell.

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Harry showered quickly and dressed via _Accio_ and a door slightly ajar. Then he started scrambling eggs and woke his client via carefully directed scents.

“Coffee?” Draco murmured from the doorway. He leaned against Harry’s wall: rumpled, shoeless and squinting. His mussed hair emphasized that his pajama top was buttoned askew.

He was so adorable that Harry could only glance toward him, lest he do something embarrassing. He sent his guest a large, fragrant mug of coffee. Then, swallowing his discomfort, he sat to explain all that had happened to Malfoy Manor’s wards in the night while they’d safely slept.

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Draco finished his coffee, staring out Harry’s window. “There is no evidence the ward breach was accessed?”

“None,” Harry agreed. “Only that it was created. Still, seems unlikely that it wasn’t tested.”

“Indeed,” Draco sighed, now staring at the table. He’d straightened his pajamas while Harry – facing away – had plated the eggs. Harry felt the lack of that little glimpse of skin, even as he strove to maintain professional distance.

“All right, Mr Expensive Wardsmith, what the hell do I do now?”

“Wait while I do reconnaissance. Then, I hope, return with me to craft the strongest wards on earth.”

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Harry followed his wand. The breach had been accessed at precisely widdershins, and only one room had been damaged. He was surprised to pass Draco’s bedroom, but his magic knew.

It led him to a sunny, airy room at the end of the hallway. Narcissa’s bedroom, clearly. He saw nothing amiss at first, but his wand brought him to the bed, and there – drawing back crumpled blankets – he nearly vomited. Semen. Feces. Blood. _Dark magic_.

Harry sent his patronus to Draco right away. “Contact your mother immediately. She needs dogged safeguarding. I’ll contact the Aurors. Narcissa Malfoy is in danger.”

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Harry was grateful when Neville arrived with Jones. Not all the Aurors he’d dealt with as a wardsmith were… true professionals. “Savior Potter” sometimes brought out baser, competitive instincts. But Neville he trusted implicitly.

Harry illuminated the hole in the wards, now enlarged to a stretchy, elasticized rip. Narcissa’s aggressor had entered via the attic, where house elves spent little time.

The Aurors collected their evidence, cleansing Narcissa’s bed thoroughly as a pleasant side effect. Harry suspected she would still prefer to burn these sheets.

“We always win against these bastards,” Neville promised, then shook his hand and _Apparated_ out.

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“This is beyond horrifying,” Draco murmured.

“It’s frightening, I agree,” Harry said, deep into his professional mien, “but we have methods to prevent further entry and keep both you and your treasured mother safe at the Manor.”

“And your Aurors are after him?”

Harry nodded.

“You think they’ll actually try to catch him? Even though Mum is a Malfoy?”

Harry put his hands over Draco’s and looked him long in the eye. “Your mother is an acknowledged war heroine. She is also my client. And Neville Longbottom is heading the case.”

Draco thought for a moment, then nodded. “All right.”

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Harry cracked his knuckles, stood and backed one step from Draco’s kitchen table. “Please show me,” he said with no further preamble, “what you both treasure in this house, other than yourselves? Once we secure the buildings, we will secure the grounds separately. But portraits, heirlooms, ghosts…. They can require different methodology.”

“You take your job seriously, don’t you?” Draco cocked his head, still sitting. Harry recognized the choice to change the subject. Purebloods seemed to know, whether instinctively or from experience, that this process was arduous and could even be painful. They tended to stall him, when they could.

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Hours later, Harry finally allowed Draco to rest. Exposed faces red, bare hands chapped, breath labored, the men stood close on the Manor’s roof and drank hot, conjured cocoa.

“Chocolate’s a treasure during jobs like this,” Harry said, loud enough to be heard over the whining wind. The horizon threatened snow. He wanted to finish the external warding work quite soon.

“Oh?” Draco said, pretending he wasn’t exhausted.

“Dispelling Dark Magic while simultaneously replacing it with stronger, better, Light Magic, means chocolate. Let’s get back to work, Malfoy. We’re almost done warding the external structure.”

“Just the outside?” Draco whined.

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“I wouldn’t normally recommend we go this far, but under these circumstances, your mother having been so viciously and personally targeted…” Harry couldn’t look Draco in the eye.

“What do you mean by ‘of the body’?” Draco asked, savouring his piping hot tea. Now that they’d finally fully warded Malfoy Manor’s entire exterior, he was inclined to agree to anything. As long as it didn’t require him to go outside unmagicked again.

“The strongest possible wards require your blood, your sweat, your tears, and… a drop of your semen.”

Draco put his tea down very slowly. “Excuse me?” he tried.

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Harry spoke toward the ceiling. “With your father Kissed and incarcerated, you are head of house and heir, both. Wards of the body, using your fluids, would secure the house more completely than any other ward, magic or spell. They would conjure a sentient net of protection around your house; even your grounds. Ones you control with your magic and mind. You would be aware if anyone attempted a breach, and you would have the power to imprison or repel anyone who tried.”

“I’ve heard of Living Wards,” Draco said, allowing Harry to see he was impressed. “But….” he blushed.

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“This is why you called me,” Harry said, bluffing confidence. “No other wardsmith in the UK can accomplish Living Wards.”

“I’m tempted,” Draco said, looking at his tea. “But it sounds like… an uncomfortable process? You would be there for… everything?”

“I would be there for, er, most of the extractions.” Harry blushed deeply. As much as he wanted Draco, this hadn’t been what he’d envisioned at all.

“I have a confession to make,” both men said, rushing through their words and listening only to themselves. “I’m attracted to you!”

They both looked up, startled. “Wait, what did you say?”

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“I fancy you,” Harry repeated, to Draco’s astonishment. “I’m confident I can craft the best Living Wards nonetheless. But you should know.” Taking a deep breath, Harry visibly calmed himself.

Draco could see how agitated Harry’d been, before confessing.

“I appreciate your honesty,” Draco began, “and have pure confidence in your work. I hired you, despite our history, because you are the superior wardsmith of the UK. But before we extract any… make preparations to craft Living Wards, I should tell you —”

“Harry,” barked Neville’s Newfoundland patronus, coming through the wall. “We caught the perpetrator. Please bring Malfoy downtown.”

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Startled, Draco immediately stood. If his cup hadn’t already been empty he’d have spilled it. “Floo,” he said. Then he gave Harry a look of pure panic. “Will the house be safe with us away?”

Harry cocked his head. “The external warding is perfect even if the warding is incomplete,” he said after a difficult pause. “I think, for such a moment as this, we should both go to the ministry. But if you want, I can return and watch over the house while you deal with the Aurors?”

“That is a kind offer.” Draco said slowly. “I might accept.”

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“We’re certain it was him,” Neville explained, “because aside from an imprint he left along the edges of the breach he created in your attic, all the remaining house wards were purely Malfoy. And very old.”

“It’s the way I checked the house, looking for that microscopic perforation. I always check that way. I purify as I go. It slows me down, but it prepares the wards for updating. Then even if the customer hires someone else, their wards have been cleansed.”

“You do that for free?” Draco was surprised.

“Well, sure,” Harry said, shrugging. “Everyone deserves solid dwelling wards.”

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Neville was thorough and professional, but he was not swift. They’d had the one brief interview, and had sat alone for the hour since.

Harry leaned over and spoke quietly into Draco’s ear. “How’re you holding up?” They waited alone in Neville’s office, but the door was open and either Auror could return at any time. Presumably should have returned already.

“Having you wait with me in the Auror department is reassuring. But I worry someone might enter the Manor,” Draco murmured back.

“Just say the word, and I’ll sit guard.”

“Please,” Draco said, calmer.

Harry stood, nodded, and _Apparated_.

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“I have all the facts,” Draco explained, having finally returned home from Neville’s office.

“First, I should reassure you,” Harry interrupted. “No one has so much as tested your new wards. We can complete them whenever you wish.”

“I’m not sure I need bother with Living Wards,” Draco said, pouring their tea. “Neville was very reassuring. Both that he caught the singular criminal involved, and that said villain would indeed be swiftly convicted.”

“Neville is a very fine Auror,” Harry agreed, and sipped his tea before adding milk and sugar. “But I am still worried about you and your mother.”

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Draco frowned, but spoke no objections. “Please explain,” he said instead, sipping tea.

“Living wards,” Harry began, sketching the Manor on parchment he’d pulled from his briefcase, “protect everything inside the grounds for as long as you live and months beyond. They protect land, creatures, objects, and structures. Up to and including your fencing.”

Draco watched, fascinated, as the Manor took shape under Harry’s slender quill.

“The facts are evident. These superior wards conjure sentient protection around the Manor and grounds. You control them and would be aware of any attempted breach. You could imprison or repel anyone who tried.”

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Wards blossomed from Harry’s quill and swirled around the inked Manor, bristling vividly when Harry’s quill jabbed.

“Clever drawing,” Draco said, amused. “But with the blackguard in Azkaban, what is my need for such expensive, aggressive wards? I’ve heard they can be pugnacious, that they can attack invited guests. Even harm servants.”

Harry bristled. “Nonsense. My wards are exquisite. Ask any customer for a referral. Get the facts before you impugn my work.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I meant no offense,” Draco interjected. “I was just asking if what I had heard was correct.”

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“ _Some_ wardsmiths,” Harry said, deliberately calming himself with tea and deep breaths, “in the past, have crafted wards that sloppily. But I never have.”

“Not even as an apprentice?” Draco said, impressed but sceptical.

“Correct,” Harry said, pride evident in his voice and shoulders.

“Impressive evidence,” Draco said, conceding the point. “But that doesn’t explain why _I_ need them.”

“If the cost—” Harry began.

“No,” Draco interrupted. “I would spare no expense to keep Mother safe if I considered it prudent and necessary.”

“Then what?”

Instead of answering, Draco looked down and blushed to the tips of his ears.

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Harry stopped abruptly. Draco was looking at the table. Draco was blushing. Draco was _distressed_. Harry thought back, over their past several hours; and suddenly went still, deep red, sputtering.

“Malfoy,” he said, putting a hand on Draco’s. “I’m so sorry. I forgot to mention something critical.”

Breathing slowly, releasing the deathgrip on his teacup, Draco casually raised his head. His efforts to hide his embarrassment were obvious, but otherwise effective.

“I have to be present during the extractions, as I mentioned, but you don’t have to be… nude. Not even for the semen. It shouldn’t change the specimens’ quality.”

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“You don’t want to see me nude, Potter?” Draco drawled, leaning back. His voice was fluid but his shoulders were visibly tense. “I thought you said you fancy me.”

“Don’t want to?” Harry laughed too loud. “I’m gagging for a chance to get you out of those high-quality robes you like to wear. But I had no interest in doing so… professionally!” Harry finished his tea in a big, inelegant gulp. “Besides,” he said, sprawling back in his chair. “You’re attracted to me, too.”

“You knew?” Draco sputtered, all pretense at calm abandoned.

“Of course. I heard you say so!”

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“We spoke simultaneously,” Malfoy sputtered. “I thought….”

“I’ve excellent hearing,” Harry said, chagrin on his face. “Look, why don’t we just… tumble into bed,” Harry tried. “Get nerves outta the way. We can revisit upgrading your wards later.”

“I… no.” Draco said. “I think the opposite. Would you require large quantities of these bodily fluids?”

“No,” Harry said, clearly curious.

“Then let's get _those_ done first. The first time I have you in my bed, Potter, I’d like to be behind the best wards on earth, and have hours for my exploration.”

Harry swallowed a moan. Then he stood. “Absolutely.”

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“Please excuse the long wait before we extract your fluids, but part of the success of my Living Wards is the elaborate setup,” Harry said as they walked toward the geometric center of the Manor.

Normally Harry had to carefully map such a spot for a client, but Draco waved him off. “My ancestors built with several such spells in mind, and the center is marked.” Pushing away a heavy rug with his wand, Draco exposed a golden X in the marble floor of a beautiful drawing room.

Harry cast one spell and smiled at Draco. “Yep,” he agreed. “Perfect.”

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“You can go, do something else around your house,” Harry said, pushing up his robesleeves. “This part is going to take quite a while.”

“Do I need to leave the room?” Draco asked, perching at the edge of a stiff, tall armchair.

“It isn’t necessary,” Harry said, confusion on his face, “but watching this is probably super boring. I won’t be able to talk to you at all.”

“Any excuse to be around you,” Draco quipped, and Harry tipped his head sideways, wry amusement on his face.

“Suit yourself, then,” Harry agreed, and pulling out his wand, got to work.

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Harry hadn’t exaggerated. For over two hours he waved his wand, muttered, measured, and _Apparated_ around Draco’s drawing room.

Draco alternated between reading an old novel, and watching intently. He truly had no idea what Harry was doing, how it would facilitate the creation of Living Wards, or even what language Harry was casting in.

At one point he muttered an excuse and hurried to the water closet, only to return to a room that glowed with so many golden threads of magic criss-crossing from ceiling to floor and wall to wall that he wasn’t sure he could safely reenter.

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Draco was still in the doorway minutes later when Harry looked up: green eyes unfocused, hair a wild black mess, body crackling with magic, cock discernibly erect. Draco was mesmerized. He wanted that man in his bed. He wanted that man in his _body_. He could take roughly _anything_ , he realized, in order to have Harry Potter in his life.

Draco swallowed as Harry shot another gold thread from his wand into the walls of Draco’s home.

After a moment of staring, Harry grinned broadly at Draco. “Please excuse my tented robes,” he laughed. “Byproduct of some of these spells.”

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Finally Harry stopped to survey his threads. Some pulsed, some hummed, others flowed. Many curved delicately away from Harry, as though avoiding body heat, or magic. Others bowed _toward_ Harry – or his wand? Draco couldn’t tell in the discordant light.

Harry was able to step directly into a third kind. They went right through. Draco stiffened in discomfort the first time he saw it, but Harry didn’t seem to notice the gold piercing his shoulder. Then he stepped again, and both the golden light, and Harry, seemed unaffected.

Harry didn’t look at him. Draco appreciated the excuse to openly stare.

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“I’m ready,” Harry said. He pulled four miniscule glass vials from a robe pocket and spread them in the air between them. “Blood, sweat, tears,” he pointed, “and, er, semen.”

Draco simply nodded. Harry would tell him what to do.

“C’mon in.” Harry motioned and smiled. “The magic is all for you. It can’t hurt you.”

Gingerly, Draco stepped into and through the threads of light.

“You don’t have to… orgasm.” Harry swallowed. “But the wards will be stronger if you do.”

Draco felt a surge of lust power through him. The perfect excuse. “Can you give me… a hand?

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Draco leaned back against Harry. Vials of blood, sweat and tears rested on the mantle. Harry had painlessly pulled all three fluids from Draco’s body with spellwork. He could do the same with Draco’s semen, but since ejaculating would strengthen the wards, and Mother and the Manor were targets, Draco was masturbating – fully clothed.

If he let himself, he would laugh and ruin the ritual, so he stayed all tendencies toward cynicism and irony, and reveled in feeling his own hand rubbing against his clothed erection, and – far better – feeling Harry’s strong body and hard cock, pressing in behind him.

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Because of the wards ritual, Harry couldn’t rub Draco’s cock, cup his balls, or take any of his own clothes off.

And Draco had to stay right where he was, standing right on top of that gold X in the middle of the marble drawing room floor, and come “without a partner.” Mostly meaning no one could directly touch anyone else’s cock.

But this did not preclude Draco pressing his (clothed, dammit) arse against Harry’s prominent erection. It did not stop Harry from breathing hard in Draco’s ear. It did not mean Harry couldn’t grip Draco’s hips – hard – and pull.

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“I mustn’t speak while you’re masturbating,” Harry’d warned, blushing but stern. “You can say anything, unless you make it clear I’m in the room.” He’d swallowed, closed his eyes in a long blink before continuing. “Or touching you.”

It was true Harry could’ve left the room, but Draco wanted him to stay. It was true Draco could have masturbated nude, but he wanted to wait to show Harry his cock. He wanted to see Harry’s at the same time. He wanted to watch Harry’s face.

He wanted decadent, delicious sex, not a warding ritual.

“I want!” he thought, and came.

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Grinding his arse into Harry’s erection, Draco milked the last drops of come from his cock as best he could while clothed.

Then, strength ebbing, he rested his weight against Harry as he watched the man smith together Living Wards based on Draco’s fluids and emanating from the geometric center of the Manor. The vials opened and the fluids emerged, spinning thinner and thinner into the golden threads and creating a golden web of power and safety.

When the golden web expanded into the walls, floor, ceiling… Draco marveled. When the web retracted into Draco’s gut and balls, Draco fainted.

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Draco awoke in a chair. The golden web was no longer visible. The vials lay empty, discarded on the floor. Harry knelt before him, looking concerned. A house-elf hovered nearby. Draco’s vision jumped and wavered.

And a small herd of deer leapt over a downed section of fence near the easternmost section of his property.

“Vissy,” Draco mumbled. His most responsible house-elf appeared at his elbow, and he tried to stay his blurring vision enough to look her in the eye. “Eastern fencing damaged,” he managed. “Fix it.”

She vanished and Draco patted Harry’s hand. “Amazing,” he praised. “Bed now.”

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Draco insisted on stumbling upstairs on his own feet, but he wasn’t going to refuse Harry’s arm around his waist or the chance to put his own arm around Harry’s neck. At least one house-elf (possibly both?) followed behind discreetly, and it was Bippy that dressed Draco in silk nightclothes while Harry was in the loo.

Bippy laid out silk nightclothes for Harry as well, and Draco was quite miffed to see, when Harry returned to check on him, that he clearly intended to leave the house instead of put them on and climb into Draco’s bed.

“Stay,” Draco insisted.

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“I’m exhausted,” he complained. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

“Didn’t know,” Harry admitted. “You own much more property than anyone else I’ve ever done this for. I guess that’s why?” He patted Draco’s hand and tried to nudge Draco into laying down. “I should go. You need sleep.”

Draco glared imperiously. “I thought we had an understanding,” he stated bluntly. “After the wards were complete, you were going to shag me into the mattress. Hard. You can’t fuck me if you don’t stay here.”

“But,” Harry began.

“When I wake?” Draco tried, and stroked Harry’s stubbled cheek. “When _we_ wake.”

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Draco gentled back to consciousness. What marvelous sleep. He didn’t even want a stretch. But, needing his wand for _Tempus_ , he opened his eyes.

The view took his breath away.

Harry Potter sat at the table by Draco’s largest bedroom window, haloed by sunlight. He’d unbuttoned the borrowed golden silk nightshirt, and it hung light on his shoulders, showcasing brown skin, chest hair between firm pectorals. He was leaning back, reading through a large sheaf of papers. His glasses had slipped down his nose.

He looked completely at ease.

“You didn’t go,” Draco said stupidly. Harry looked up and smiled.

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“How could I go before you woke,” Harry said. He put down his papers, stood and walked toward the bed, “when you asked me so nicely to stay?”

“You didn’t sleep?” Draco asked, instead of the questions that burned his tongue.

“Oh, I slept,” Harry said, and sat on the edge of the bed. “I woke about an hour ago?” Harry mused. “I slept very well, really. I think last night I was too nervous about the Manor.”

“And we had a long day,” Draco said, unable to resist trailing a finger down Harry’s forearm.

“That we did,” Harry agreed.

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“But you’re… rested now?”

“Quite rested,” Harry agreed toothily.

“Feeling well, then?”

“I feel… excellent,” Harry said. His smile gave Draco cause to breathe deep.

“Not tired anymore?” Draco traced a vein on the back of Harry’s hand.

“Nope.”

“Hungry?” Draco cocked his head. He wasn’t, but they could get a small meal eaten so hunger was out of the way. They had better things to do.

“I don’t need to eat.”

“Restless, then?”

“No. I’d say… snared.”

“Snared!” Draco wasn’t sure he liked that word. But, he didn’t dislike it, either.

“Caught. Entangled. Quite unable to… go.”

“Then, don’t.”

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“Vissy,” Draco said, not taking his eyes off Harry.

“Sir?” Vissy replied, having appeared at the foot of Draco’s King bed.

“Mr Potter and I are now busy. I will not answer the Floo or any owls. Not even from Mother. Has anyone contacted me since we completed the last section of wards?”

“No, Master. Will you wishes regular lunch?”

Draco didn’t know the time and didn’t care. “No, please don’t disturb us unless the Manor… catches fire.”

“Yes, Master.” Vissy bowed and vanished.

“You’ll know if the Manor catches fire, Draco.”

“Right,” Draco remembered. “Living wards. Now, come here?”

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Draco’s known Harry since they were eleven. He’d never thought the man “elegant,” per se.

That was before.

Yes, Harry flew with energy. _Power_. But elegance? He’d always been too aggressive. Even in the air. And yes, there was grace to some of his movements now, especially while weaving Living Wards. Draco had seen and forgotten it. That was just… work.

But rising from the edge of Draco’s bed.  
Sliding gold silk off his shoulders.  
Running his fingers through his shaggy hair.  
Slipping golden silk down his thighs…

Harry Potter stalking naked into Draco’s bed.

Draco’s never seen such elegance.

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Harry’s known Draco since they were eleven. For years, one of the first words he would use to describe Draco would be “elegant.” From Hogwarts, Harry had seen elegance in Draco’s flight, his walk, his hands, the flow of his clothes and the turn of his phrase. But he’d also seen arrogance, bigotry, bullying.

That was before. It had taken time, apologies, self-reflection and slight shifts of perspective to get Harry to see Draco as a friend.

Now, removing silk pyjamas.  
Sliding over to make room.  
Reaching for Harry.  
Spreading his legs.

Stroking his cock.

Harry’s never seen such elegance.

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“Fuck me,” Draco whispered, feeling stunned as Harry completely overpowered him – without a whisper of magic. Or skin contact.

“Is that an exclamation, or a command?” Harry asked, sounding amused.

“Yes,” Draco sputtered, regaining control of his senses. “You should fuck me; hard, fast and dirty. Then we catch our breath, start over. Only the second time, we’ll go slow, patient.”

“What if I want slow and patient to start?” Harry said, his lopsided smile wrecking Draco’s hard-won calm.

“It’s a merry-go-round,” Draco shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t matter where we get on.”

“As long as we ride,” Harry agreed.

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“I, yeah,” Draco said, licking his lips, unsure what he’d agreed, except Harry was going to fuck him. Now.

Harry came to rest against Draco’s side, leaning on an elbow, other hand splayed wide, high on Draco’s belly. He inched that hand down.

“Hard, you say? Fast?” His hand was millimetres from Draco’s prick, and Draco was straining to stay still. “Dirty?”

“Oh fuck,” Draco said. It was the only thing that came to mind, hopelessly muddled into circles of “yes.” “Please.” “Harry.”

“Is teasing unkind?” Harry mused, smile beautiful and evil. Draco nodded and Harry laughed: low and warm.

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Narrowing his eyes, Draco tried to regain his control. “You like teasing?” he asked, putting his own hand onto Harry’s abs.

“It can be fun,” Harry said, rubbing a small circle into Draco’s skin and still, somehow, maddeningly, avoiding Draco’s leaking cock.

“I see,” Draco said, deliberately giving a non-answer and seasoning it with his own most enigmatic smile. “What about kissing?” He smoothed his hand up from Harry’s abs, to Harry’s waist. There, he gripped.

Harry smiled and leaned in, stopping only millimetres away. “Love it,” he breathed.

So Draco pulled him in by the waist and kissed him.

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Outside, the wind swirled snow into eddies, tides, spirals. The clouds greyed the day into an indistinct fuzz of unknown distances, covered trees. Only a few tenacious birds remained, tethered to the Manor by Bippy’s tireless daily offerings of birdseed. The sky tried to insist the winter cold would persist. Eternal.

* * * * * * *

Inside, eyes closed. Two men wore nothing but heat, kisses and skin. Fingers sought and found, mouths met and merged, sheets slipped to the floor.

Feet were kissed. And ankles. And knees.

Legs turned and twisted, wrapped and straddled, kneeled and spread.

Hands needed.

Arms held.

Eyes opened. Smiled.

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“You.” Harry said, nearly spent – still eager. “Amazing.”

Draco pulled Harry closer. “I might keep you for the heat you generate alone.”

“Oh?” Harry said, grinning. “A few things come to mind, then.”

“Yes?” Draco reached for Harry’s hand, tipped his head slightly on the pillow. He gave a piranha smile. Chose not to wink.

“First, I had help generating heat.”

Draco conceded with a nod, a softened smile.

“Second,” Harry pushed closer and Draco curled toward him, “what does that imply? For… summer?”

“That’s months away,” Draco said, heart suddenly inconvenient, in his throat.

“Mm,” Harry agreed, and blushed.

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Overwhelmed by Harry’s implication, Draco broke eye contact. “Vissy,” he murmured, turning toward the foot of the bed where he trusted she’d have already arrived, silent.

As he’d confidently assumed, there she was. About to request lunch, Draco paused and looked at Vissy: obedient, loyal, efficient. “Potter,” he asked in a hushed, distressed tone. “How did that bastard not only get past my previous wards, but past both Vissy _and_ Bippy?”

Harry stroked a hand down Draco’s naked back, but his answer wasn’t reassuring. “He disabled them? I think. They might require medical care, actually.”

“You didn’t think to mention?”

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Vissy’s eyes begged forgiveness.

“I… apologize,” Harry said to Vissy. “I’ve had so few clients who’ve called me after a wards breach, let alone between such vicious attacks. I’ve no other clients with house-elves. This isn’t my area.”

“You’re right,” Draco frowned. “I should have been more conscious of their needs. Vissy,” he leaned forward, “how did you feel when you woke yesterday morning?”

Vissy stuttered out a mumble and pulled at one ear.

“Bippy! Damn, that fucker really struck a blow,” Draco growled. Bippy appeared and Draco didn’t bother asking after her health. “Bippy, fetch medical attention. For yourselves.”

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Harry made sandwiches while Draco spoke to the house-elf Healer. When it was all over, Draco had to hire a house-elf to nurse his house-elves, and another to fill in, but Healer Reath thought Vissy and Bippy would only need to take one day off.

“It’s a stroke of luck Bippy knew to call me,” Healer Reath said earnestly. “Does she read The Prophet?”

“She reads the whole thing for me every day,” Draco said, surprised. “So I don’t have to.” He looked away to finish the thought. “One mustn’t abandon the world completely, even when it has abandoned you.”

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“I’m sorry our… visit must end abruptly,” Draco said, walking Harry to the newly secured Floo.

Harry turned at the stone fireplace, taking both Draco’s hands. “As long as this _friendship_ isn’t over,” he said, burning holes through Draco with the intense focus of his gaze.

“I hope not, as well,” Draco said, allowing Harry’s attention to stroke his ego.

“Friday?” Harry said, ambiguously.

“Of course,” Draco answered, distracted with want.

“You learn your wards, heal those elves, and take care of Narcissa. On Friday I’ll bring you back to mine for dinner?”

“Yes,” Draco said, perhaps too fervently. “Yes.”

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“I… see,” Narcissa said, sipping tea. The Ministry Litigator (no older than Draco!), steepled her fingers and looked at her, calm and quiet, waiting for her to be ready for more. “Peculiar that I don’t remember him.”

“He wasn’t… stationed here. Voldemort didn’t even see fit to mark him.”

“The Dark Lord did feel strongly about that being an _honor_ ,” Narcissa replied, hiding none of her disgust.

“When we got the right Auror in the room with him, he started chattering like a magpie,” the Litigator continued. “He’s delusional, specifically about you. Went on and on about ‘mending your relationship’.”

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“When was he at Hogwarts?”

“Hm,” the Litigator checked her notes. “Looks like he was a Slytherin also, two years before you.”

“Matthew Rosscot? Perhaps I do remember him from school,” Narcissa mused slowly, drinking more tea and looking closely at the old, mended photo. “He was an entitled little brat back then, I recall. Constantly trying to sneak into the girls’ dormitories.”

The Litigator was taking notes. “Can you think of anyone, student or teacher, who might have similar memories of him?”

“Anyone who is still alive, you mean?” Narcissa said, dry as dust.

The Litigator frowned, then nodded.

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“Thank you again, Mrs Malfoy,” the Litigator said. She stood and packed her papers with a wandless wave. Narcissa walked her to the door. “I want to assure you we have a very strong case. We fully expect to send Rosscot to Azkaban.”

“Do you think so?” Narcissa asked, perhaps too honestly. “I know you are young, but perhaps you have been in the professional world – or simply been a woman in the world long enough to know – men frequently believe they have the right to do such things to women, and frankly, they often turn out to be correct.”

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The young Litigator fixed her dark eyes on Narcissa’s. “I was one of three women in a litigation school of sixty-two. I graduated top of my class and was the last to get hired. I’ve been pushed to mend a thousand fences some man broke without my assistance. I had to make each fence better than it was before. Only then could I be treated with what passes for respect at the ministry. Mrs Malfoy, I understand the injustice Rosscot perpetrated upon you.”

Thank you, Ms Granger,” Narcissa said, shaking hands and smiling for the first time since the attack.

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“How did things go with the Litigator?” Draco asked when his mother returned to the sitting room. “Should I have Bippy bring tea, or are we needing whiskey?”

“Tea is fine,” Narcissa said, smiling thinly. “Granger expects to put Rosscot behind bars easily, and I find her professionalism and confidence rather heartening.”

“Oh good,” Draco said, waving Bippy off toward the kitchen.

“Mostly,” Narcissa said, settling into her chair, “I wish you to tell me about our impressive new wards.”

Draco leaned forward, smiling, his eyes alight.

“And our impressive new wardsmith.”

Draco sat back and swallowed once. “Certainly, Mother.”

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Draco was grateful when Bippy arrived with a laden tea tray, complete with tiny square sandwiches. He prepared two cups, while trying to decide how to answer Mother.

“Recently,” he began, aware that he could put Mother off no longer, “I was wandering the house, trying to determine the solution to a vexing potions difficulty, you know how that soothes my mind.”

Mother nodded and sipped, but her eyes were waiting.

“And I felt, I don’t know exactly how to describe it. I felt a falseness in the house. In the wards.”

“So you called the best wardsmith,” Mother prompted.

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“I felt rather odd describing the sensation, but Potter was most solicitous, said he knew just what I was on about. We commenced searching, and after some time, found a microscopic perforation in the Manor’s wards. Against the western wall.”

Mother gave a mighty frown. “Was it yet after sunset?”

“It was by then, yes. Nonetheless, though the time of greatest danger had passed for the day, Potter insisted I sleep at his home, as it is in the midst of an enormous square of heavily warded property.”

Mother raised her right eyebrow.

“In his _guest room_ ,” Draco asserted, disingenuously.

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Mother hmmed, but allowed him to continue.

“In the morning he checked the Manor, and discovered the… disturbance in your belongings.”

Mother merely nodded. Draco’s relief only surprised him slightly. He hated more explicit descriptions of the incident. Bad enough it had happened, even while neither of them were home.

“With the Aurors on the criminal case, Potter convinced me to accept Living Wards, and I’m quite pleased. Had you known our fencing was not perfectly square? And worse, was slightly damaged?”

Mother looked surprised. She sipped tea, and Draco watched her use the action to help blanken her expression.

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Putting down her teacup, Mother paused to search Draco’s eyes. “I have heard,” she began delicately, “about some of the methods involved in creating Living Wards. Does this explain why the square Persian rug was not covering the golden X in the main drawing room when I returned?”

Nodding, Draco felt his cheeks flare with heat, but it couldn’t be helped.

“Harry and I had been… flirtatious. Creating the wards proved to be an… intimate experience. Several bodily fluids were required for the wards to be created at their most strenuous, and, er…”

“I see,” Mother said, her voice sharp.

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“I met delightful people in Johannesburg,” Mother said suddenly.

“Oh?” Draco said, wary.

“A handsome widower, Dizon Landers, was very kind.”

Draco was surprised. “I did not realize you were considering… men.”

“He has beautiful daughters,” Mother continued smoothly, disquiet almost hidden.

“Mother,” Draco leaned forward. “You must listen this time.”

“No.” Mother stood and stalked forward, swirled her robes and looked down at him. “ _You_ must listen. Put this nonsense aside. Marry, beget an heir. The line must continue. A son is your greatest responsibility.”

“No,” Draco declared, standing also. “As I have informed you repeatedly: I. Am. Bent.”

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“There are spells….” Mother began, but her nervousness shone through the twist of her fingers, the way she smoothed at her hair.

“You would risk my sanity? For this?” Draco asked, far calmer than he felt.

“It surely would not come to that,” his mother rushed to assure, but Draco wasn’t having it.

“It certainly will not,” Draco agreed firmly, “as no one will subject me to anything even half so dangerous. You know that method, while illegal and dubious, nonetheless requires full participation from the one you are trying to ‘fix’.” He frowned. “But Mother? _I am not broken._ ”

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Narcissa paled – her composure wobbly. Evading her touch, Draco walked to the window.

“Mother, I thought you had accepted the truth. I am bent. Gay. Homosexual. _Queer_.” He turned to discern her expression. She had abandoned the pretense of calm. He watched her smoothing circles into her temples. He grimaced. He hated upsetting his mother.

“I will not marry a woman, Mother. I will not put aside my entire self. I may sire heirs someday, but not upon a wife. And if the husband I eventually choose fought for the other side, you will endure even that. Am I clear?”

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“You ask too much,” Narcissa whispered.

Draco smoothed his hand over the top of the settee. “Grandfather intended to choose your husband, but you and Father chose each other. You brought him to Grandfather, hoped he would allow the match. He was thrilled, agreed immediately.”

Mother nodded, desolate. She knew this story better than he did.

“Imagine instead, Grandfather insisted you marry some woman. Imagine Grandfather subjected you to dangerous spells, untested potions, so you might be able to respond to her sexually.”

“That is completely different,” Mother cried, looking ill.

“Is it?” Draco asked, and strode out, _Apparating_ away.

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Draco gave little thought to where he was going. He primarily knew he had to get away from his mother. So he was slightly surprised to find himself at Harry’s fence, being thoroughly checked out by Harry’s own Living Wards.

Bemused and unafraid, Draco turned out his hands and called toward the sky. “It’s merely me! May I enter?”

“I thought you preferred me to enter,” purred Harry from directly behind Draco’s right ear.

Whirling around, Draco watched Harry remove his invisibility cloak. Taking a moment to collect himself, Draco watched Harry fold and store the cloak in his pocket.

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“I’d be open to that,” Draco finally said, giving Harry a crooked smile. It was starting to snow. “But first I require a double firewhiskey, neat.”

“Holy Moses,” Harry laughed. “First of all, of course, and second of all, what happened?”

“I’ll tell you everything directly,” Draco sighed, then shivered. He could feel his brave façade finally start to weaken. Standing up to Mother’s tirade had been exhausting. “As soon as I can sit down with that drink.”

Harry brushed snow from Draco’s hair and took his arm. “Let’s get out of this weather,” he said, then _Apparated_ them inside.

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“So that’s everything,” Draco finished. “Mother is still homophobic, I’m still her devoted son.” He slugged back the last of his whiskey. “To a point.”

Draco frowned at his empty glass. “Has Granger spoken directly to my house-elves? Or their Healer?”

“I’d be happy to ask her,” Harry said. “And, I’m sorry.”

Draco looked surprised. “For?”

“The attack. Your mother’s intolerance.”

“None of that is your fault, Harry!” Draco cocked his head to one side and stared at Harry for a long pause, then he smiled. “But I shall nonetheless allow you to make it up to me. In bed.”

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Harry allowed sex to smolder in his eyes, but when he spoke his words didn’t match. “I’m eager to bed you, only, right now I think you might need a different sort of attention.”

Annoyed at Harry’s presumption, but aware he might be correct, Draco raised one eyebrow.

“I think,” Harry said, standing up and moving to the far end of the sofa where Draco sat, “you could use,” he bent over and reached for both of Draco’s feet, then began to slip off Draco’s heavy leather shoes, “some pampering,” Harry finished, and pulled Draco’s socked feet into his lap.

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“Oh,” Draco said, surprised. It wasn’t like he’d never had massages before, he reflected as Harry removed his socks, applied pressure to his arches, pulled gently at his toes. But, from a lover, not a professional masseur? And a second massage in just a few days? He couldn’t remember even one. His lovers had all been so… temporary.

“Why?” Draco asked as he began to ease into the sofa, feeling like a large blond cat.

“See it as a gift,” Harry suggested, digging his thumbs deliciously into the ball of Draco’s right foot.

“All right,” Draco agreed easily, relaxing further.

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Draco awakened to a darkened room and marvelous scents of roasting beef and potatoes. Rubbing at his eyes, he sat up, knocking a soft, thick blanket to the floor. “Harry?” he said to the dark. He noted he was both shoe and sock-less, but otherwise wore everything he’d arrived in, sans travel cloak.

Harry came in, raising the lights very gently with his wand. “Would you like dinner?”

“At present,” Draco said, “I would like to know the time, how long I slept, and how I make this up to you. And then, yes, I think I would like dinner.”

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Leaning carelessly, comfortably against his inner doorway, Harry ticked answers off with his fingers. “It’s 8 at night, you slept almost four hours, and you don’t need to make anything up to me. You clearly needed a nap, so think of the… accommodations as my present to you.

“Dinner is roast beef with garlic potatoes, green beans, and I have wine and salad in the refrigerator. You can take a shower if you want, while I set the table. I’m sure you remember where the bathroom is.”

Seeing Draco’s obvious disorientation, Harry waited for an answer with a canary-eating smile.

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“I am not accustomed to such generosity,” Draco finally said.

Harry tipped his head in disbelief.

“From people who don’t want something in return,” Draco amended.

“Not even your Mum?” Harry said, looking surprised. “I remember those packages she owled to Hogwarts.”

Draco sighed. “Need you ask?”

“Ah,” Harry sighed, looking sadder and less confused.

“High marks, catching the snitch, no detentions, eventually, an appropriate wife and one blond son. She wanted a great deal in return. She still does.”

“I do want something in return, you know,” Harry said, extending a hand for Draco to take.

“Oh?”

“Your time.”

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Draco had to force himself not to add more beef and potatoes to his plate. Harry was an excellent cook. But no matter how good the food, it was bad manners to stuff oneself insensate. More important, Harry had promised sex, and Draco wanted to enjoy it, not burp through it.

“Dessert?” Harry asked politely after Draco finished eating and shook his head to seconds.

“Not hungry?” Harry said, clearing the table with his wand and appearing as though he were trying not to frown.

“Oh,” Draco said, leaning back, hips thrust forward provocatively. “I wouldn’t say I’m not… _hungry_.”

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Interest sparked in Harry’s eyes as Draco’s posture changed. He raised half his mouth into a smile and turned quickly toward his kitchen, where he made short work of putting all the leftovers away and dunking the dirtied dishes into a sink full of soapy water. 

Watching Harry move through his domestic chores raised a sensation in Draco’s chest he wasn’t ready to examine. Instead, he rose from the table and slipped behind Harry, where he stood at the sink.

“You are a wonderful top,” he murmured into Harry’s ear. “But I don’t know if you ever like to bottom?”

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Leaving his hands in the soapy water, Harry leaned his head back onto Draco’s shoulder. “I’ve been known to. Occasionally. For the right man. Do you want to top?”

Draco turned Harry around, waved his wand to dry Harry’s hands, wrists and shirt. He put his hands into Harry’s hair. “With you?” he husked into Harry’s ear, “I want everything.” He took Harry’s earlobe between his lips and applied the slightest pressure. Then he drew a line down Harry’s neck with the very tip of his tongue. “I want to do. I want to be done. I want to watch.” 

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Harry breathed heavily, as Draco continued to tease him. A tongue touch here, a fingertip there. “But I’m keeping you from your chores,” he eventually whispered.

“I’d say dinner’s all cleaned up,” Harry said, making a sweeping gesture at his kitchen, but not taking his eyes off Draco. “Shall we retire to the bedroom?”

“I suppose,” Draco flirted. He felt uncharacteristically relaxed tonight: loose, free and high. “Or I could get down on my knees right here in your kitchen and suck your heavy cock until you come down my throat hard, like a steam train rolling down a hill.”

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“Sounds… great,” Harry breathed, feeling his heart rate speed and his eyes dilate.

Draco advanced on him, beautiful, predatory and lithe. So Harry took him into his arms and smiled, goofy, into Draco’s face.

“It was nice having you here all day,” Harry said, surprised by his own words. “Liked you asleep on my couch; liked feeding you dinner.”

“There’s something else you could feed me,” Draco murmured. He watched Harry swallow heavily. “I’m in the mood to top, and before I take you apart with my cock, I’d like you in my mouth. Want that here, or in bed?”

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Harry didn’t bother answering with words. He kissed Draco thoroughly, then pushed his shoulder. It was just the smallest gesture, but Draco gave him an outsized, exaggerated wink and sank immediately, gracefully to his knees. 

“Do so love your cock,” he husked, undoing Harry’s clothing.

“Loves you back,” Harry wheezed, already hard enough to make his pants uncomfortable.

“This, by the way,” Draco said as he pulled Harry’s erection out, leaving Harry’s balls trapped under the elastic of his fashionable blue pants, “is why I didn’t have seconds of your delicious dinner.” Then he swallowed Harry’s cock to the root.

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Harry was standing (barely). His back to his sink, cock out, brain nearly off. “Good,” he wheezed. Draco teased, tormented him with lips and tongue. The back of his throat. Fingertips.

“Need…” Harry choked out. Draco slowly pulled off, leaving Harry’s erection dangling — ignored, damp and throbbing in the warm air of Harry’s kitchen.

Harry gulped in air like a drowning sailor, shook his head, refocused. Looking down, he saw Draco wore an insouciant half-smile.

“There was a time,” Harry whispered, putting fingertips to Draco’s temple, “when that look would have made me likely to explode. In a bad way.”

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“Now?” Draco’s tone, look, were somehow both defiant and insecure. 

Harry pet Draco’s impossibly pale hair from his temple and tried to offer a sexy, confident smile.

“Now I want to explode all over your chest while you fuck my arse so hard I can’t remember who either of us ever used to be.”

Draco’s smile broadened, warmed. He stood with grace and pressed close, kissing Harry once. “You’ll always be my hero.” He winked.

“Come be mine,” Harry murmured. 

“Fuck,” Draco said, and closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, Harry thought they were glowing silver. “Let’s Apparate.”

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They rushed on foot. “Wards,” Harry’d groaned. But the house was small and soon they were stripping and kissing; panting and falling, naked, onto Harry’s big, soft bed. 

Harry rolled onto his back just so Draco would crouch over him. Reaching up, Harry stroked Draco’s messy locks from his eyes.

“D’you have patience to prepare me with your fingers?” he asked. “It’s been a long time, but if you can’t, spells are—”

“Hush,” Draco said, capturing Harry’s fingertips in his mouth. He kissed each one; whispered into Harry’s ear. “As long as I please you, I have patience for anything.”

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Gripping the posts of his headboard till his knuckles went white, Harry struggled not to fly apart like a startled flock. Draco was teasing Harry’s foreskin with his lips while three of his fingers were moving inside him, stretching and teasing. 

He would’ve demanded Draco start fucking him about five minutes and a finger ago, were he able to speak.

“Ready?” Draco finally murmured, moving his mouth from Harry’s leaking, trembling  
erection to his ear. 

Keen, needy, Harry nodded.

“Then let’s make a mess,” Draco husked, smiling. 

Nodding, still silent, Harry hooked Draco’s hips with his heels, pulling him in. 

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Draco didn’t fuck much. No matter how you defined that. He was attractive, but he also had a shit tattoo and an aversion to men who didn’t know magic, or why said shit tattoo wasn’t “badass.”

Luckily, he spoke French. He’d taken to traveling to Francophone wizarding populations and visiting their gay bars. His favourite weekend portkey was to Senegal’s Dakar. The wizards there spoke beautiful, clear French, ate well and danced dirty. Most recognized his Dark Mark, so romance was out, but a weekend of fun had so far always been of interest for at least one handsome gentleman.

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Of course, such hidden, infrequent sexual habits were a big part of why his mother was still immersed in her denial. 

They also helped explain why having Harry underneath him had Draco fighting to stay present. He didn’t want to get lost in some romantic fantasy. He needed to keep his mind right here, right now. Even if only to give Harry the best fuck Draco had to give. 

Sliding his cock deep into Harry’s body, he reached for Harry’s cock and watched Harry’s eyes flutter shut.

“Tell me what you like,” he whispered.

“This is perfect,” Harry managed back.

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“Stop,” Harry suddenly panted. 

Alarmed, Draco pulled out and hovered over Harry, searching his face. “Did I hurt you?”

“No!” Harry said, hugging Draco to the crook of his neck. “I was just…” Draco felt heat flood Harry’s skin. “Too close. I don’t wanna come yet.”

“Ah!” Draco laughed. “Perfect. Want to top for a bit?”

“That won’t help!” Harry cried, and Draco laughed again, happy. 

“Fuck me on my knees?”

“Gladly,” Draco said, smiling. They rearranged themselves and Draco slid back in. 

“Oooh, good,” Harry moaned, and dropped his head to the sheets. “Go slow?”

“Anything,” Draco agreed easily. 

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Fucking Harry, leisurely and deliberate, Draco reached toward Harry’s cock, then reevaluated. “How d’ _you_ want to come?” he murmured, swivelling his hips, stroking one hand over Harry’s tight abs.

Harry rocked back on Draco’s cock; then shuddered, Draco deep inside. "What I wanted before,” he finally answered. “All over your abs while you pound me incoherent. Just… not yet?”

“Anything,” Draco agreed, and kissed Harry between his shoulder blades. “Just tell me when.”

“Can you last?” Harry asked, breathy. He arched his back. Draco felt it through his cock, balls, spine.

“You’re amazing,” Draco promised. “But I can hold off.”

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Draco kept an erratic pace, appreciating the sheen of Harry’s sweat, his moans of pleasure, the grip of his hole. As long as he didn’t let it build, he could stay hard and fuck Harry for as long as Harry could stand.

But eventually, even Harry needed to come. “Now,” he managed, and soon Draco was coming deep inside that beautiful man, his abs already covered with Harry’s needy release.

“Fuck,” Harry whispered after Draco collapsed next to him. “You win my fattest trophy for that. That fuck was _everything_ I wanted.”

“Yeah?” Draco blushed. He’d needed to hear that.

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Draco caressed Harry’s hair. Then, taking a risk, he coaxed Harry into his arms. With Harry’s sweaty head on his chest, one of Harry’s legs entwined with his own, Harry’s hand at his ear, he smiled and breathed in Harry’s scent. 

“We reek,” Harry laughed.

“We’ll shower eventually,” Draco agreed, and played with Harry’s curls. “Not yet. This… holiday. Can’t end yet.”

“Holiday?” Harry frowned. “You mean, like a respite from real life? Like now you have to leave my bed and return to ‘normal’?”

“I… do not want that to be my answer,” Draco said, and frowned as well. 

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“What answer do you want to give?” Harry said softly.

“I would prefer…” Draco inhaled deeply and clenched his fists for a moment against Harry’s back. Then he forcibly relaxed his own hands. “This is difficult.”

“Take your time.” Harry tipped his head up to kiss Draco’s jawline. “M’not going anywhere.”

“I have had little romance in my life,” Draco eventually murmured. “I would like to change that. But Mother… interferes. So does my history. Though I suppose if anyone could disregard my past, it would be you, hm?”

“What do you mean?” Harry said, his brow creasing with confusion.

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“Only that no-one could claim dating me makes _you_ some sort of Death Eater sympathizer.”

“Suppose not,” Harry said. He chuckled softly.

“Mother remains, however,” Draco said. He sighed. “I honestly do aspire to be her dutiful son. I also wish to live my own life and make my own fucking choices. She’s actively making those contradict, and it’s really starting to piss me off.”

“I sympathize,” Harry said, and he sounded so sincere. “But Draco…” he paused, and — breathing — Draco took the moment to marvel that (for now) he could hold a naked, happy, Harry Potter in his arms.

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“Yes, lovely?” Draco asked. He knew full well his smile had gone dopey, but decided — he didn’t much care. 

Whatever Harry was about to say might be difficult to hear, but nothing could take these last few days away from Draco. He was determined to be grateful. 

So what if Harry wasn’t prepared to move any further into a romance with him? Draco understood. He was a convicted Death Eater, Mother was both homophobic and a terrible meddler, and — mundane but relevant — Draco worked ludicrously erratic hours running his mail order potions business nearly single-handed. He was hardly a catch.

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“You’re _twenty-seven years old_ ,” Harry finally said. Shocked, Draco barked out a laugh.

“That is miles from where I thought you were going,” Draco admitted.

Harry turned in Draco’s arms to prop himself up on an elbow and more easily look Draco in the eye. “What did you expect?”

“For you to gently shoo me off,” Draco admitted. “I’m not an easy man for you to integrate into your life.” He was about to enumerate the thoughts he’d catalogued a moment before, but before he could, Harry laughed and kissed him again. “Easy is overrated,” he said, and he smiled.

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They kissed for a few more minutes, relaxed and undemanding, until Draco slowed them. He wanted to have the talk they’d been gearing up for. Harry was a living legend to some, but Draco nonetheless thought he could be brave enough to ask for what he really wanted.

“If easy is overrated,” he began.

“Yes,” Harry interrupted firmly. 

Draco laughed. “Shouldn’t you hear me out, first?”

Harry turned a little red, but his smile was dirty and delicious. “Probably?” Harry said, “but let me try anyway?”

Feeling indulgent, Draco ran one hand down the smooth muscles of Harry’s arm. “Sure.”

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“If you planned to ask me to be your boyfriend, the answer is yes. If you wanted to ask me to be patient with your mother, the answer is yes. If you were going to ask me to understand the challenges presented by your past, or the demands of your potions business, or the tightrope you walk in public, the answer is yes. And if you were merely going to ask if I’d top next time…”

“The answer is yes?” Draco interjected.

“Yes!”

Even as they laughed, Draco marveled at how right it felt between them. Wasn’t that a surprise?

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“I’d like very much for us to be ‘boyfriends’,” Draco said. “Though it feels a bit odd to use that word. We’re no longer boys.”

“I still feel like a boy sometimes,” Harry said in a confessional tone. He’d snuggled down further into the covers and it was strange to see him look so sweet and young. 

“Of course you do,” Draco said in a falsely lofty voice. “You _are_ a mere boy. Whereas _I_ am a legend! A man of taste, wealth, and nobility.”

“And beauty,” Harry threw in, his amusement visible even though his face was half covered.

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“And don’t you forget it,” Draco said, his face open wide in bemusement. “Really, the whole world shall be surprised I deign to date you.”

“I’m _such_ a nobody,” Harry said, laying back and throwing a hand over one eye like a silent film starlet. 

“Quite,” Draco said, and straddled him under the covers, keeping their cocks millimetres apart. “Lucky for you, you’re one of the sexiest men I’ve ever seen.”

“Really?” Harry sounded sincere for a heartstopping second, then batted his eyes so hard Draco couldn’t help but giggle.

“You could be… _legendary_ ,” Draco whispered. Then he started tickling.

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“So,” Harry said in the morning, after they’d fooled around under the shower, dried each other, dressed and headed to the kitchen. “Boyfriends.” 

Draco grinned at Harry, who grinned back. Draco felt his ears warm, but didn’t care. This was really happening. 

“It means facing the music with my mother,” Draco said, searching Harry’s eyes.

“I want to be there with you for that,” Harry stated calmly, like he was merely suggesting a new brand of tea. 

Draco stared, not hiding his shock.

“Isn’t that what a good boyfriend does?” Harry asked. Draco could only blush and duck his head.

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“I can only guess,” Draco finally answered. “I’ve never had one.”

“Well,” Harry said. His smile was somehow both warm, and dangerous. “I aim to change that.”

“You’re not...” Draco hesitated. 

Harry just... sipped coffee. Draco marvelled at his patience. 

“You’re not scared.” Draco stated, instead of asking. It was obvious.

“No.” Harry replied, still so damn calm. 

In contrast, Draco was vibrating. He pushed his coffee away.

“Well,” Draco said, determined. He stood and looked out Harry’s kitchen window at the gently sloping lawn, the enormous trees off in the distance. “Then I shall endeavor not to be, either.”

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"Has Granger spoken directly to my house-elves?” Draco said, deliberately changing the subject. “Or their Healer?"

"I'd be happy to ask her," Harry said. 

Draco stared out the window, seeking to calm his nerves. 

“I could do that now?”

Draco nodded, distracted. He imagined delicately confronting Mother: holding Harry’s hand, perhaps kissing Harry’s cheek when Harry arrived….

Harry’s warm hand squeezed Draco’s shoulder. It was reassuring in its firmness. It felt real.

“What are you afraid of?” Harry asked. He sipped coffee, waiting while Draco vibrated.

“Let’s think it all through,” Harry suggested. “In advance.”

Draco nodded. “Wise,” he agreed.

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First, mindful that Draco had asked before and he’d not followed up, Harry firecalled Granger and mentioned the house-elves and Healer as a potential lead in her case against Rosscot. 

“Great news,” Granger said, sounding dour and intense. 

Draco was reassured all over again that his mother’s attacker would surely be incarcerated for the maximum sentence, if Hermione Granger had anything to say about it. 

Once Harry pulled his head from the fire, he had Draco brew a large pot of Assam and toast a stack of rye. Meanwhile, Harry scrambled five enormous eggs with chopped spinach and grated cheddar. 

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Draco tried not to get sentimental about sharing Harry’s kitchen, but they worked well together. Soon they were seated at Harry’s little kitchen nook. 

“Merlin,” Draco said, tasting his breakfast. “This is fantastic.”

Harry grinned at him. “Not your usual?” he finally asked, as he watched Draco devour his cooking.

“No,” Draco said. “But I will definitely be asking Vissy for exactly this dish.”

“Glad you like it,” Harry said, crunching through toast covered with eggs. “But how do you want to approach your mother with our news?”

“You don’t pussyfoot around, do you?” Draco sighed. “Well, we shouldn’t, either.”

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“Sounds good,” Harry agreed. He poured himself more tea. “So we’ll head over there after breakfast to tell her we’re dating?

Draco thought his eyes might bug out of his head, but he controlled himself, took a breath, and thought. Then, feeling braver, he nodded.

* * * * * * * 

“Mother?” Draco entered the Manor, Harry right beside him holding his hand. “Mother? Are you in?”

Draco and Harry strode into the main drawing room, where they found Vissy waiting.

“Mistress is being in the conservatory,” Vissy offered. 

“Please tell her we would like to speak with her,” Draco said formally. “We have wonderful news.”

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When Vissy vanished, Draco took one decisive step towards the conservatory, then stopped. He felt Harry’s hands perch softly on his shoulderblades. 

“Draco?” Harry asked. 

Draco swung around. “How do I look?” He made a soft noise of frustration. “I mean,” he tried, “what emotion am I wearing? What will she think when she sees my face?”

Harry stepped back to gaze gently at Draco. “You look determined.”

“Unacceptable,” Draco sighed. Then he crooked his mouth up into a half smile. “But I think I know how to fix it,” he said, and pushed Harry up against the closest wall.

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Putting a hand in Harry’s wild hair and another on Harry’s slim waist, Draco found Harry’s mouth. He nipped at Harry’s lower lip, and when Harry opened to him, Draco rolled his crotch into Harry’s and attacked Harry’s mouth with vigour.

They lost themselves in one another, kissing like lovers. Like they were alone. Like they were heading for bed.

“Great,” Harry panted. “Now I’m hard as a rock.”

“I know,” Draco said, nuzzling his neck. “I am too. But I bet we both look pretty fucking happy.”

“Don’t… say fucking,” Harry whined quietly. “I’ve gotta talk with your _mother_.”

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They arrived in the conservatory fifteen minutes after arriving at the Manor, holding hands, grinning, flushed, and laughing quietly. 

Harry’s hair was only marginally more out of control than usual, while Draco’s was newly perfect. Their rampant erections had been hidden with Draco’s clever charmwork.

They looked, Draco knew from checking the mirror, like exactly what they were: a new couple. Wrapped up in one another, infatuated, captivated, a new and exciting island: inhabitants, only two. 

“How is this good news?” Narcissa demanded, ice permeating every syllable.

“It is wonderful news,” Draco said with equal ice, “because I am _happy_.”

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“You come here, flaunting….”

“Mrs Malfoy,” Harry interrupted. 

She glared fury, but said nothing more.

“I know I am merely a guest,” he said, watching Draco’s shoulders stiffen, “but I have news from my friend, Hermione Granger. I understand she is your Litigator?”

Draco’s mother gave Harry a curt nod. Then she carefully resettled herself on her chair, fluffing her lilac wool robes, cleaning all emotion from her face. 

“Tea, Mr Potter?”

“Yes, thank you,” Harry said. 

Their words were formal and cold, perfunctory and utilitarian.

But Harry never released his grip on Draco’s hand. Nor did he step away.

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Harry and Draco sat across from Narcissa on a small, flowered loveseat. They had tea, made small talk regarding the slowly progressing trial, and spoke not a word about the way Harry and Draco were holding hands, cuddled thigh to thigh, and smiling private smiles at one another in between bites of their tiny sandwiches, sips of their tea.

Eventually, Draco’s mother crumpled slightly, wiped just under one eye, and generally began to exude a despondent air. 

Harry was honestly impressed with her acting skills, but they just… waited.

“Why did you come?” she finally asked. “Are you punishing me?”

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“Merlin,” Harry said, and he laughed out loud at his new boyfriend’s mother. They both looked at him with open surprise.

Harry stood and looked, quite literally, down at Narcissa Malfoy.

“How self centered do you have to be —in all fact— to actually believe your son would do this just to spite you? Have you never been in love? Is it truly impossible for you to just… share in his happiness? You make me sad, honestly. Draco, sweetheart, I think you and your mum need to talk privately. I’ll be at home if you need me. Kiss me goodbye?”

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Draco walked Harry to the conservatory’s doorway. He took Harry’s hands and kissed Harry chastely. He asked Bippy to show Harry out.

Then Draco turned to speak. "I truthfully do aspire to be your dutiful son,” he began. “However, I also need to live my own life and make my own choices. You have been actively making those contradict. This distresses me. 

“Adults are afforded the space to make their own choices. To choose a profession, leisure activities, short and long-term goals, a life partner.”

He gave Mother an extremely pointed look before continuing. “Even to make one’s own errors."

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Mother did not react, but Draco thought he was making an impression, nonetheless.

“The salient point is you have that space. I hereby claim it for myself, as well. Harry and I… are becoming quite serious about one another. He is everything I could ever want in a man.”

Draco heard Mother’s small noise of objection, but he ignored her. 

“Harry is handsome, generous, intelligent, kind, and funny. He treats me with respect, yet does not take either of us too seriously. He loves his work, which he chose for himself and pursued diligently. He knows how to be happy.”

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Draco peeked at Mother, but she was still quiet, so he continued. He was almost done, anyway.

“I’ve no interest in finding new space for my business, but we have options. For myself, I can continue to live here with you, date Harry, and see how that goes. Or, I could speak to Harry about moving in with him. It is… early for that. But in two or three months, I suspect it won’t be.

“Another option, if this is too hard. You could move out.”

He heard Mother’s sharp intake of breath, and forced his face to stay poker-calm.

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“We own that lovely place in the south of France,” Draco continued as though he was not upsetting Mother, whose would-be assailant would soon be on trial. As though he was not casually suggesting his mother _move out of the country_. 

“Perhaps we have other properties I’m unaware of. Certainly, you seem to have made some close friends in Johannesburg. Perhaps they would like another visit from you. The point is, you have options of where to sleep. But you will not be sleeping here, not any longer, if you cannot accept the reality of who I am.”

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Draco breathed in deep, through his nose: slow, slow, slower, until his quivery lungs felt they could burst. Then he held it until he felt capable of speech again. 

Mother sat, stunned, visibly hurt and almost certainly calculating a shrewd, effective response.

Smiling serenely, he made sure to get there first.

“The new Living Wards have already been adjusted to exclude you from the space once you leave,” he explained. “I have complete control of them now. But I can readmit you easily. All you have to do, is fully, truly accept me, Mother. Just the way I am. Queer.”

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Mother gave Draco a look of intense hurt. He nearly surrendered. But, unluckily for Narcissa, she had been pulling this shit for too many years. Draco was too acclimated to actually cave.

He thought about it, yes. Or, well, he didn’t think so much as feel. He saw the look of misery on his mother’s face and he felt _terrible_. He felt his guts twist and sicken, he felt his heart pound and leap toward her. He felt his hands tighten and strain behind his back.

But Mother, he was confident, saw nothing in him but steel, ice and patience.

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“You have set these new wards to discern the contents of my heart?” Mother eventually said, sounding quite waspish. Draco chose to focus on how long it had taken her to speak, rather than be hurt by her tone.

“No,” he said, remaining calm. He promised himself the worst was over. “I shall do that myself, as we talk. As you interact with me. With Harry.”

“And how long have I,” she retorted tartly, “to school my heart into obedience, dear son?”

“All things being equal?” Draco said, still hiding every emotion. “Until you leave the bounds of my wards.”

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Mother bristled like a wet cat. “Am I become your… _enemy_?” She spat the word, arched a brow, used _that_ tone. She was pulling out all the stops.

Draco marvelled at how ineffective it was. Nonetheless, his smile was very small; carefully contrite. He had no interest in hurting her. Only changing her behavior. Maybe, someday, even her _mind_.

“No, Mummy,” he said gently, using the name he’d intentionally abandoned at 9. 

Mother’s face went white. Then slightly pink. Then completely blank.

“I could never think of you that way.”

“I see,” she said, blandly. 

He wondered when she would.

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“So,” Draco said, falsely bright. “We’ve had enough stress for today. I shall sleep at Harry’s. It will give you an opportunity to consider your feelings; perhaps make a decision without me about, making you feel pressured.” 

He forced a smile while she stared, either stunned or furious. He thought to kiss her cheek, but at the last moment decided to ask permission.

“May I kiss you goodbye then, Mummy?” he asked. 

She inclined her cheek imperiously. He hid his sad smile.

“I wake at dawn nowadays,” she offered. Then she swept away in a perfumed cloud of lilac wool.

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Draco packed a small bag and Flooed to his new boyfriend’s house. 

“How’d it go?” Harry asked, handing him a double firewhiskey, neat. 

“ _She wakes at dawn_ ,” Draco stagewhispered melodramatically. He threw back a large swallow, then threw himself onto Harry’s chesterfield. Harry leaned forward and waited.

“It went better than I thought possible,” Draco said, frowning at his half empty glass. “Which is to say, awful, but it could nonetheless have been much worse. I made it clear that if she cannot stop trying to change my orientation she can bloody well move out.”

“Whoa,” Harry said, clearly impressed.

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“I have your Living Wards to thank for that,” Draco said dryly. “I couldn’t possibly keep her from the property without them.”

“That what you want?” Harry asked softly, sipping at his Ice Vodka.

“Not at all,” Draco said, looking into his glass. “But I’ve been climbing the walls trying to get her to face reality.” He stared into the middle distance. 

Harry let him. 

“No,” Draco said, standing abruptly and pacing to Harry’s window. 

Harry stood, too, but only came near Draco’s shoulder. He could wait.

“That’s not true,” Draco admitted. “I’ve been a coward where Mother is concerned.”

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“What do you mean?” Harry said after a small stretch of silence.

“I mean,” Draco looked at his feet. 

Still standing two feet away, Harry watched Draco inhale, deep and slow. 

“I could have… should’ve been more forceful. More honest. More insistent that Mother accept my sexuality.”

“Why didn’t you?” Harry asked in his gentlest voice. He could feel the tension climbing up his back. He took his own deep breath, trying to dispel it. 

“I guess I…” Draco turned to face Harry. His smile was small and wry, but there. “I didn’t have a strong enough reason. Until now.”

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“It is strange,” Draco continued, looking into Harry’s eyes, “how courage comes.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked, taking Draco’s hand.

Draco stepped into Harry’s arms, waited for Harry to embrace him.

“I kept loneliness at bay with brewing. When I could wait no longer, I’d schedule a portkey for some city with great nightlife. Usually Dakar.”

“Senegal?” Harry asked quietly, still holding Draco in his arms. Draco nodded. “It was a great avoidance tactic,” Draco said. “Senegalese who want to emigrate to Europe all go to France, for legal and linguistic reasons. I was never going to find a life partner there.”

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“No?” Harry asked.

“They also tend to recognize the Mark,” Draco admitted.

“Mm,” Harry said. 

“It’s strange, how little you say,” Draco said, pulling away to look into Harry’s eyes.

“I’m _listening_ ,” Harry said.

“Which I appreciate,” Draco said. He shook his shoulders, took a breath and refocussed. “I had convinced myself a real relationship was off the table. Who would want me? With my disadvantages?”

“You sell yourself short,” Harry said.

“Perhaps,” Draco said. “Or perhaps you underestimate your own willingness and ability to tell the rest of the world to take a flying leap.”

Harry laughed out loud.

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“It may be news to you,” Harry said quietly, nuzzling Draco’s ear with his nose, “that I’ve had a more than a few chances to tell the world to take that very leap.”

Draco leaned in close, resting his cheek against Harry’s shoulder as though it belonged there. Perhaps it did, as Harry didn’t seem inclined to push him away. He laughed a little, anyway. 

“Not exactly surprising, no,” he said, and toyed a bit with Harry’s belt. He could seduce Harry now, he thought, but that would be changing the subject, and he wasn’t quite ready for that, yet. 

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“So what I’m trying to say,” Harry said, still very quiet, still holding Draco close, “is I’ve had a bit of practice with ignoring popular opinion in order to make my own choices, live my best life.”

“Oh?” Draco said, pretending he needed more explanation. He understood Harry’s implication, but wanted the reassurance. (Forgive him the weakness. He’d had a rough afternoon.)

“Yes,” Harry said, his voice close and quiet, but firm and sure. “I don’t care what your mum thinks, or the newspapers, or even potential clients. I want to try this, with you. I want it very much.”

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“I’m glad,” Draco said, deliberately infusing his words with warmth. “Because I want to try a relationship with you as well. Very much.”

Harry stroked down Draco’s back with one hand, but didn’t pull away. “What would a relationship between us look like to you, ideally?”

“To me?” Draco said, surprised. He squeezed Harry tightly, then let go, moving the few steps to sit on Harry’s grass-green chesterfield. He put his glass on the coffee table.

Harry followed, and they both sat slightly sideways, facing each other, knees touching. Harry nodded, answering without words, silently urging Draco to open up.

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“Well,” Draco began, still a bit surprised by the question, “I guess I’d like to see you, mostly here at yours, a few nights a week. I’d like to sleep over. I’d like to take you out for meals, maybe bring you into London for a play, or the ballet.”

“The ballet?” Harry said, clearly surprised. “Isn’t that awfully…” he paused.

“Highbrow?” Draco finished for him, laughing.

“Muggle!” Harry countered. “But yes, quite _highbrow_ as well. Isn’t it?”

“Pansy got me hooked,” Draco admitted. 

“Pansy… Parkinson?” Harry said, his beautiful green eyes open as wide as Draco had ever seen.

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“Yes, Pansy,” Draco said, tipping his head to the side in slight confusion. “Are you… jealous?”

“No?” Harry said, looking even more confused. “You’re 100% gay, aren’t you?”

Draco nodded once. 

“Then why would I be jealous? What I actually am, is surprised. Parkinson doesn’t seem to be any more likely to enjoy something that Muggle than I thought you were.”

“Ah,” Draco says, smiling now. “You underestimate the lure of shockingly fit men wearing skintight costumes. Pansy generally sits there working hard to keep herself from rushing the stage and climbing the lead man like a tree.”

Harry laughed.

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“So,” Draco said, feeling warm and relaxed. “Now we know how I would like to do this, what about you?”

“Mm,” Harry said, smiling. He leaned forward slightly. “I like your ideas. I also liked cooking for you. I would enjoy doing that again. I like hiking around my land when the weather cooperates. I’d love to explore with you. Watch you fly, too. Always used to love that.”

“Did you really?” Draco said, allowing his surprise to show. 

“Damn right,” Harry said with enthusiasm. “Even when we played against each other, it was always thrilling to watch you fly.”

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“So we both want… casual?” Draco said. He looked at their touching knees and wondered which connotation Harry would assume. 

“Only in the sense that I feel very comfortable with you,” Harry said, sounding decisive. “I’m happy to be very informal. But I want us to be monogamous.”

Draco swallowed shock and breathed, slowly. 

“I mean,” Harry suddenly sounded far less sure. “If, er, you want?”

Encouraged, Draco looked up and saw the insecurity Harry couldn’t quite hide.

“Yes, I prefer to be exclusive,” he said, taking Harry’s hand.

“Whew!” Harry said, and they both laughed off their nervous relief.

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“Oh!” Harry said, suddenly. “Almost forgot. Hermione called. There’s been a break in your Mum’s case.”

Eager, Draco leaned forward.

“Justice Department ruled Aurors can question Matthew Rosscot under Veritaserum, long as his own Litigator’s present.”

“Marvelous,” Draco said firmly. “When?”

“Monday morning. Hermione will be there too. Which Rosscot’s Litigator is angry about, but he can’t keep her out. An Auror personally invited her.”

“Fairness to both sides,” Draco said, nodding.

“Should be, but it’s because she’s married to an Auror,” Harry disagreed, sighing. “The sexism Mione has to deal with is overwhelming.”

“I’m starting to understand.” Draco frowned.

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“Anyway,” Harry continued, “It’s the most temporary kind of Veritaserum, but Hermione says Rosscot’s Litigator, Sessions, won’t have the guts to meaningfully object while Rosscut’s still compelled.” 

Harry grimaced downwards, then sipped his Ice Vodka. “She wants to know if you or your mother will attend.”

Draco didn’t hide his surprise.

“You’d be behind a spell. Rosscot won’t see or hear you. He’d know you were there, though.” 

“Whatever Granger thinks best,” Draco decided.

“She thinks your mother should go,” Harry said, sounding just a little grim. “Because if Rosscot knows she’s watching, he’ll likely incriminate himself far more thoroughly.”

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“Then I shall recommend Mother attend,” Draco said firmly. “And I shall attend alongside her, unless she disagrees.”

“You were utterly incensed at her not twenty minutes ago,” Harry said, confused. “I know she’s your mum, but is your fury usually that… transitory?”

“Mum and I have a strained relationship, Harry,” Draco tried, forcing himself into silence about what an orphan cannot understand. “If I wish that to change, I must offer every possible olive branch. Anything reasonable, other than relinquishing… you.”

“You’re such a catch,” Harry enthused. 

Draco nearly chastised him for teasing, until he saw Harry’s admiring eyes.

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Unbidden, Draco felt his face heat. Uncomfortable, he looked at the floor, the ceiling; his drink, which he quickly finished. Finally glanced at Harry again, wondering what the man was thinking. Was surprised to see how soft Harry’s eyes had gone.

“I really need to take you to bed. Now,” Harry said, nearly whispering. “If that’s okay.”

Draco put his empty glass down and nodded. He followed Harry to a bedroom and shut the door behind him. Then Harry pushed him up against it, and Draco felt himself melt.

Harry made him feel like a man without a single problem. 

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Draco and his Mother entered the Auror department wearing their best cool façades. 

“Mrs Malfoy,” Granger said. “Draco. So glad you could spare the time. Please, right this way.”

Rosscot was down one hall, past three doors and behind a shimmering wall of spellwork. “Is that you, Narcissa?” he called at their footsteps. Mother tensed. Granger shook her head, as though either Malfoy would have been foolish enough to respond verbally.

Some Auror did it instead. “Can’t tell you if she’s here, Rosscot, but if she is, she’ll be listening to every word you say. So, _Matthew_ , watcha gonna say?

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Draco couldn’t see anything other than Mother, white walls, uncomfortable wooden chairs, and swirling pearlescent spells, hiding them from the rest of the room.

But he heard everything.

Granger’s increasingly pointed questions. 

Rosscot’s increasingly fevered answers.

Defense counsel’s ineffective, bleating entreaties.

He heard his mother forcefully regulate her breathing as the man who’d longed for years to physically and sexually assault her, blathered on about what a shame it was that he’d been unable to do so. And how much he “loved” her.

They listened as Rosscot incriminated himself so thoroughly that both he and Mother were fighting back vomit. 

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The Aurors escorted Rosscot back to his cell. There were a few last formalities with the Litigators. Then Draco was alone in the room with his mother. 

Granger appeared in the doorway.

“That had to have been extremely difficult for you,” she said. “But your presence was immeasurably valuable to this case.” She took Narcissa’s hands into her own, and Draco watched, surprised, as his mother allowed it. Took visible comfort in it.

“What would help, now?” Granger continued. “Coffee? An escort home? Going over the case in my office? It is incredibly strong, especially after his…” she grimaced. “Torrent.”

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“Just,” Mother swallowed once, then straightened her already perfectly straight spine. “Just be my warrior, Miss Granger.”

“I am. _Your_ warrior, Ma’am. I will wipe the courtroom clean with his past, his wrongdoings. He will go to jail, and he will stay there.”

“Thank you,” Mother said, and swept herself away. Draco nearly followed without speaking, he was still so flustered. Then he caught himself.

“Thank you, Hermione,” he said. He heard his own voice catch. “This means so much. To both of us. I’m very glad you’re the one they sent.”

Hermione just shook his hand, nodded, and left.

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“Take me to lunch, Draco,” Mother said when they emerged from the Ministry onto the busy London street. “I have much to think about, and I want my son with me.”

“Certainly,” Draco said, and spun his mother off to Percebes.

The house-elves at her favorite restaurant always knew just how to treat Mother like their most valuable customer, and it wasn’t long before they were seated at a very private table overlooking a tiny fountain. A talking frog took their lunch order and vanished, and Draco saw Mother almost imperceptibly deflate.

“The chauvinism,” she said, and they both sighed.

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At first Mother wanted to chat about the weather, the garden party a friend had thrown, another party she would soon attend. Then, abruptly, with a surprising lack of grace, Mother suddenly veered into the topic of her “new friend” in Johannesburg, Dizon Landers.

Draco hid his deep breath and let Mother bring up Landers.

But, to his surprise, she actually wanted to speak of Dizon, not his daughters. Landers had been a perfect gentleman, Mother said, looking into her glass of white wine. But she thought, if she encouraged him at all, he would be interested in far more.

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“But I confess, dear son, today I feel slightly fragile around the topic of men and romance.”

Draco nodded.

“I did not think Dizon was like that, but am I wrong? What if, like Rosscot, like Lucius, he wants not to be near me, but to possess me? What if it is never my happiness he pursues, but exclusively his own?” She finished her wine; watched Draco pour her another glass. 

“Is Harry this way, Draco? Are you? Or is it my singular bad luck to attract unusual men, who think my value resides only in feminine weakness, and beauty?”

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Draco paused, uncertain. He sensed an opportunity, but tongue-tied, he wasn’t sure how to avail it. To his surprise, Mother spoke again, though he’d not answered.

“The things… _he_ said,” Narcissa suppressed a delicate shudder and drank more wine before continuing. “Plenty of men, like _him_ , like Lucius, like my father, have made it abundantly clear throughout my life: they find witches to be inferior. Because we take them inside ourselves, willing or no, and they feel superior because they,” she flushed and looked down. “Forgive my blunt words,” she said.

“I will cope,” Draco said. “I want to listen.”

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Instead of continuing, Draco’s mother glanced around. Though she’d been quiet, Draco cast his own privacy spell.

“Thank you, son,” his mother said, before continuing. “Some men feel anatomy makes them superior. Because women... open.” Mother blushed, but her voice was clearer. “But your... Harry is also a wizard. You have… choices. Physically.”

“Yes,” Draco agreed, wondering what his blushing Mother actually wanted to know about his sex life. Wondering what he would be willing to share.

“Do any homosexuals feel that way about men who… open?”

“I’ve never met a gay man who felt that way,” Draco said, bluntly. 

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“So only regular men treat women poorly?” Mother asked.

“I’m a perfectly regular wizard,” Draco said, calmly, though he was annoyed. “But it’s not that simple. It’s called sexism, Mother, and it’s not only straight men who have built this sexist world.”

“Still,” Mother pressed. “Harry does not see you as inferior? Not the way your father felt about me. Not the way wizards like Rosscot feel. And in return, you treat him like an equal?”

“I certainly try,” Draco said, wondering where Mother was going but glad she was finally trying to put his relationship in a positive light.

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“Harry does not see me as weaker. And Mother, accepting sex doesn’t weaken a person any more than accepting love and care does.”

“You believe that?” Mother interjected sharply. 

Draco just stared, too surprised to answer.

“It would make you the first man I’ve known who does.”

Draco knew, for once, his sadness was written all over his face. His mother’s own sadness was all the mirror he required. She took his hand and gave him a small, sad smile. 

“You do believe that, don’t you?” she said.

All Draco could do was nod. “Father,” he paused delicately. “Did not?”

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“No,” Mother sighed. “Which means I am not sure how you came to feel differently. You rather worshipped him as a child.”

Draco bristled at the implied criticism, but Mother kept speaking.

“For which I feel guilty and responsible. He wanted that, so I encouraged it. He cared to have your adoration, wanted your love and sought your admiration. But I do not so much feel….”

Mother paused and poured herself more wine. She drank some, then still did not speak. Draco squeezed her hand and waited.

“He did not deserve it,” she finally finished. Draco felt his breath stutter.

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“What, exactly, did Father not deserve?” Draco asked, too shocked to know what he felt.

“Worship,” Narcissa said, flat and angry. “Adoration and admiration, above what you felt for anyone else. As I said.”

“He did not deserve my _love_?” Draco said.

“I am sorry,” Narcissa said. “I do not mean to imply you did anything wrong. I blame myself. I should not have married him.” Her shoulders had slumped slightly, Draco noted with some alarm. Mother did not _slump_. Not in front of other people, at least. This was not normal.

“Let me take you home,” Draco said, firmly.

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Draco paid the bill and hurried his mother to the Floo. “Vissy?” he called, and she was there, helping him settle Mother into a sun-lit chair with tea waiting at her right hand.

“Draco?” Mother seemed disoriented. “We… the Manor?”

“You are behaving unusually,” Draco said, holding her hand. “I brought you home.”

“I do not… feel normal,” Mother said. Her eyes fluttered shut.

Vissy was already on the Floo to the Healer’s office before Draco finished asking.

* * * * * * * 

“Your mother is suffering from exhaustion,” Healer Craddle explained quietly. “She needs rest, iron and calcium. I’ve given Vissy the necessary potions.”

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“Harry,” Draco said into the Floo. “Come over? I know this is sudden—”

“I’ll be right there,” Harry said, cutting him off, and for once Draco was glad to be interrupted. He sighed in relief, and Harry came through immediately.

“Tell me?”

Draco did. He poured out his morning. Overhearing that horrible interrogation. How Rosscot clearly knew Mother was listening. The way he meant his words to be spoken directly to her, all throughout mistaking obsession for love, domination for care, and rape for intimacy. 

“His tone was so… normal.”

Harry pulled Draco into his arms and cuddled him close.

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“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Draco finally said, pulling himself from Harry’s uniquely comforting arms. He spelled his face clear of tears and puffiness surreptitiously as he walked toward the parlour doorway, so Harry couldn’t see. Then he looked across the hallway and through the spellwork guarding Mother, who was still, thank Merlin, fast asleep in her most comfortable chair.

When Draco turned around to tell Harry that Mother was still sleeping, though, Harry looked somewhere between amused and annoyed. 

“You don’t have to hide tears,” he said, and Draco could not help but look at his own shoes.

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“I… know,” Draco said eventually. “But after all Mother’s talk about toxic masculinity, I think I felt unusually fragile around….”

“Having emotions?” Harry asked pointedly. Draco winced.

“Cut right to the heart, don’t you?”

“Draco,” Harry said, making room and patting Draco’s spot. Draco crossed the parlour and sat. “Rosscot is horrific, and you two both had a hideous day, but please, don’t let any of that contaminate what we are building?”

“I certainly don’t wish to,” Draco said.

“Put your head in my lap,” Harry said.

“I’ll fall asleep,” Draco joked.

“Good,” Harry countered, and Draco had no retort.

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Two hours later Narcissa stood in the doorway, watching silently. Harry Potter scratched his fingers gently and repeatedly through her son’s hair. Draco was clearly sleeping, his head pillowed on Harry’s lap. Harry read a book he’d suspended in midair beneath his face. 

Narcissa recognized the cover. It was a witch's novel, almost certainly her personal copy. Not the sort of book she’d have expected Potter to enjoy. She thought he must have pulled it from a nearby shelf to occupy himself while he comforted and cosseted her son.

She cleared her throat, very quietly. Harry looked up at her.

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“Has he slept enough?” she asked, nearly silent. Harry bent closer to better hear. He paused, then nodded.

“I think so,” he whispered, and pulled his hands from Draco’s hair. From the kind of gentle scratching Narcissa had lulled Draco to sleep with when he was small, Harry switched to petting Draco’s face, then chest. He kissed Draco’s forehead. He whispered something sweet.

Shifting to face Harry directly, Draco cracked open one eye. He offered Harry a private smile. He did not yet know his mother was watching.

Narcissa forced her eyes to remain on Draco. She needed to understand.

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Silently, Narcissa watched Harry comfort her son. Then she sat.

“Mother!” Draco said, alarmed to hear her awake. He rushed to kneel by her chair. 

“We three should talk,” Narcissa said, but Draco checked her forehead, took her pulse.

“Son.” She spoke calmly. “I apologize for frightening you. But I have rested. I’ve taken my potions. I am well enough to sit and discuss... important issues.”

“Just as you say, Mother,” Draco said, but his brow was still furrowed. He sat on the couch next to Harry, who took his hand. 

Draco squeezed Harry’s hand tightly, then didn’t let go.

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“Vissy?” Narcissa called, and the house-elf appeared with a full tea tray. She put it between them all, on a small table; bowed and vanished.

“I have been thinking,” Narcissa began, “about the connection between men like Rosscot, and men like Lucius. I have been considering things I have heard, and questioning their truth.”

Draco and Harry nodded.

“Men such as they, believe women weaker.” She took up a teacup and drank, clearly taking comfort in the familiar.

Draco and Harry also poured tea, took biscuits.

“They believe me weaker because of anatomy.” She allowed a tiny snort to escape. 

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“Not because I cannot lift as many pounds. I could levitate anything Lucius could. I proved that quite early. We were both slightly tipsy, after our first successful garden party. Swaggering, Lucius challenged me to a magical contest, but he did not win.” She leaned forward slightly. “He was unaware, but we only tied because I knew not to show off my full magical strength.” 

Narcissa frowned. “I knew not to cause him this discomfort because of the things Mother taught me. Aunts. Grandmothers. I was taught from birth not to allow men to see my full intelligence. Or magic.”

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Narcissa traced a swirl on the arm of her chair. 

“I never allowed my husband to fully know me. Not as I really was. I reserved my power for house-elves, my innermost heart for my closest friend. 

“Lucius thought me almost… dim. He forgot about that little contest, because I never once reminded him. When he was unable to accomplish something, whether via magic or social maneuvering, I would usually complete it behind his back and tell him I had set all three house-elves on it, or claim my parents had said a few words, or dropped a few coins.

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“This is how I was taught to wife. I kept the peace and boon of my home exactly as I was taught. But the method backfired. Spectacularly. For I proved completely unable to dissuade Lucius from taking up with Tom Riddle. I said... mild things. That Riddle made me ‘uncomfortable.’ Seemed concerned exclusively with his own power. But by then I had so convinced Lucius of his superiority….”

Narcissa stared into the middle distance for a long moment.

Harry squeezed Draco’s hand in question, but Draco turned to look at Harry and simply shook his head, ‘no.’

So they waited.

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“So I wonder if this belief: women are weaker because they allow men inside their bodies, connects to the belief that a man who allows a man inside, is weak. 

“That _is_ what I was taught. That you are both weak, inadequate, not to be encouraged. Not with social invitations, or employment, or any of the little comforts of society. 

“But I examine what I was taught, I consider Harry’s magical strength, feel Draco flex these new wards, think about how Harry first defeated Lucius’s Master when you were, what, twelve? And know this ‘truth’ I swallowed is bald nonsense.”

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Narcissa finished her tea and poured herself some more. She stared out the window. She traced the pattern on the chair’s upholstery once again.

Draco could hardly believe her lack of control, but he remained silent, waiting. Harry, therefore, followed suit, though he was a little uncomfortable. Still, Narcissa was making extraordinary progress, and — clearly — neither his nor Draco’s thoughts or contributions were required.

“Lucius despised homosexuals. Loathed them. Thought himself superior in every way. But you, Harry, and Dumbledore. You _were_ superior. In… every way, really. Kinder. Smarter. More powerful. And you two… won. Lucius… he is in _prison_.”

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“Worst of all, I wonder, if Riddle had not had Lucius behind him: Lucius’ wealth, social capital, political power… would Riddle have accomplished what he did? Gone as far? Killed nearly so many? It causes me profound discomfort, but I nonetheless must wonder: How much of this was my fault? Obviously Riddle and Lucius were responsible for their own actions. But I, just as much, am responsible for my own. And my lacks. Everything I could have done, but did not do.”

She stared at the floor for a long, heavy heartbeat.

Draco squeezed Harry’s hand so hard it hurt.

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“So; my dear son, Harry. This is where I sit. My husband is incarcerated, thus I am freed. And honestly grateful. However, I have neither legal nor magical control of my own home. 

“I have been taught all my life that homosexuality is a horror. My son has… a boyfriend. The most desirable young bachelor in the nation. And I am realizing I was taught things that are, simply, wrong.

“I am, to be frank, uncomfortable. But it arises, now, from tension. I am pulled in multiple directions. Earlier my discomfort arose exclusively from my certainty that Draco was wrong. 

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“Now, I am uncertain between right and wrong. I suspect, however, things are far more complex than I was told. I’ve much to consider.”

Abruptly, Narcissa put her teacup down and stood. She walked to the window.

“So, if they will have me, I shall return to the Landers’ in Johannesburg. They made me very comfortable. I hope they would be willing to do so again. I can think things through while you two have space to be alone without me underfoot.”

Narcissa finally faced Draco. “And, if I may, I would like to return home when England is warm.”

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Draco blinked. He looked at Harry. Harry squeezed his hand, but stayed quiet. Draco paused, but Mother merely waited, gazing peaceably out the window.

“If you feel comfortable in their home, you should go,” he began. “I think not until after the trial, though? Unless there’s some gallery opening, some gala you wanted to hurry back for?”

“No parties,” Mother said. “I can wait until after the trial. That does seem sensible. Will I ever have a grandchild?” Her voice broke on that last word, and Draco rushed to his mother, who clutched his clothes and sobbed onto his shoulder.

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Draco guided his mother to the loveseat and sat next to her, holding the hand that wasn’t dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

“I apologize for losing control,” she began, but Draco wasn’t having it. 

“Be real,” he said, firmly. “Not the façade you put on to pacify Father, to satisfy his social climbing. You want a grandchild? I’ve long dreamed of fatherhood. I don’t know how, without a wife, but it is a goal. I promise.”

“You are not placating me?”

“Mother,” Draco said, dry as dust. “After all this?”

The three of them paused. Then, together, they laughed.

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“One of the worst things about choosing to marry your father,” Mother said quietly, “or so I thought at sixteen, when his parents sat me down with my father to explain the requirements involved in accepting Lucius’ proposal, was Malfoy men only want one child. One _son_. My sisters had meant everything to me, but now I knew: I would have one son. One grandson. Were I lucky to live that long, one great-grandson. And that was all I would be able to hope for.”

Draco wanted to wail. He’d spent his childhood longing for a little brother or sister. 

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When he was tiny, he’d have loved to order a sibling about. Not an ideal reason, but it was what he’d wanted at five, and now he could own that and laugh. 

Later he’d longed for someone to talk with freely about his parents. 

It was only when Voldemort moved into his home that Draco was grateful to be an only child, if this was how his parents treated their _heir_. Nonetheless, at the same time, on those nights when his whole world was crumbling, Draco would have given nearly anything for a co-conspirator he could trust with his life.

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And now, after a lifetime of frustrated longing, he’d learned Mother wanted the same thing.

“Fucking Lucius,” Draco mumbled. Mother and Harry both turned to him; surprised. “I, too, wanted a Manor-full,” he explained. “But Father, and our stupid Malfoy traditions, wouldn’t allow it.”

“What of... adoption?” Mother said, sounding uncertain. “Speaking of changing traditions?”

“I cannot imagine the Ministry allowing _me_ to adopt,” he said. “But I have considered it. I am surprised you suggest it, though. A grandchild… not of your blood?”

“A blood grandchild is a hard thing to give up, but this is not my choice.”

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Draco inhaled, working to stay calm. Mother’s progress was so fast, he feared getting whiplash. “Mother,” he said. “Thank you.”

Narcissa let one eyebrow rise, but then her face fell. “I see,” she said, squeezing Draco’s hand. 

“You see?” he asked when she did not continue.

“Draco,” she said, turning to face him head on. She took both his hands into her own. “I owe you a tremendous apology. I have suffered all my life from a deluge of strictures meant to keep me in line, and now I see I have attempted to rein you in with similar nonsense. 

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“I cannot release myself from it all without work and time, but I hereby release _you_. Every expectation, every societal barrier, every ‘polite’ rule meant to keep you inside lines that only harm you. When I fail to celebrate the man you truly are, remember this: it is on me, I am trying, and I am sorry. I have spent your life wanting things for your future that I now see are meant to be your choices, not mine.”

Then Draco’s mother burst into a deluge of tears, and, helpless, he took her in his arms and let her cry.

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Draco’s mother didn’t cry long. Draco still had to spell his shoulder dry. Eventually she magicked her face free of puffiness and tears, looking anywhere but at Harry.

“You should know,” Draco said, “I appreciate your openness, and I can forgive setbacks and mistakes. You have been wrong about me for a long time. I can take slow progress, as long as you are making progress. And it is perfectly reasonable to be sad about what you hoped for but had to give up, as long as you are not sad that Harry and I are in… are happy together.”

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Draco felt himself blush, but no one mentioned his blunder. Breathing deeply, he tried to remember what Granger had said about the trial.

“If I recall correctly, the trial is a week from Thursday. I suggest that, until then, you and I take a holiday, only right here at home. Vissy and Bippy will take care of us. We can get a great deal of rest, we can enjoy the lovely views.... After the trial ends, and a verdict is pronounced, we can decide together if you should contact your South African friends and ask to return to their hospitality.” 

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“That… sounds lovely,” she said. “I think I shall get started on that rest right now. Bippy?”

The house-elf appeared, and Draco’s mother followed her out with a smile. 

As the door slipped shut silently, Draco felt himself blush again. Harry had heard! He’d nearly admitted—! But Harry didn’t look alarmed at all.

“Regarding fatherhood, have you considered surrogacy?” he was saying. Harry’s eyes were clear and his hand was steady and Draco had no idea what he was talking about, but his heart leapt anyway, because Harry was talking with him about fatherhood instead of running for the hills.

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“What is that?”

“Surrogacy?”

Draco nodded.

Instead of answering, Harry looked at the ceiling, clearly choosing his words. “It’s, er, when you pay a woman to carry your child, but after the birth she’s not the mother. She’s not involved at all.”

“Where the hell did you come up with that?” Draco yelped.

“Muggles do it sometimes, if they can’t have a child any other way,” Harry said, still perfectly calm. “I’ve tremendous respect for a woman who can do something that selfless. A child… is an extraordinary gift.”

“Oh,” Draco said, taken aback. “Yes, I, I suppose that's true.”

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Draco paused. “Honestly, I’m just relieved that you didn’t hear all that and subsequently drop me like a dragon egg.”

“Because you want to be a father?”

Draco nodded. _And because I nearly admitted I’m in love with you!_ he managed not to say aloud.

“Draco. Stop. I’ve always wanted to be a Dad.”

“So… that isn’t an obstacle?”

“Between us? Definitely not. I’m not getting down on one knee today, mind, but not an obstacle.”

Draco could almost relax again. “So we’re still, er, dating?”

“I sincerely hope so!” Harry said, laughing warmly.

After a moment, Draco joined in.

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Draco and his mother awaited Rosscot’s trial as sedately as they were able. They took long walks, ate delicious food, shared a fully mature wine or two, even went into London. First to enjoy a ballet and then, two days later, for the opera.

They took naps every afternoon, and dressed in finery for dinner every night, even when it was only the two of them.

Harry, however, did accept two dinner invitations, and managed to keep them both in stitches for much of the evening, spinning yarns from his work about all manner of amusing mishaps and silly errors.

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Then, after days of relaxation and distraction, Thursday arrived. They dressed carefully and made their way to the courtroom for Rosscot’s trial.

“Your honors, Mrs Malfoy is a mature woman. We surely cannot expect her to sit here and listen to this… well, positively revolting—”

“Objection, your honors! Attempt to lead and distort! As a sophisticated woman, as opposed to some wide-eyed innocent, Mrs Malfoy should be particularly capable of riding out these proceedings—”

“Objection your honors! Attempt to lead and distort indeed! My opponent is painting a _crime victim_ as some sort of worldly woman of unwholesome experience ...”

“Objection!”

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Despite his best efforts, Rosscot’s counsel was no match for Hermione Granger. Or, for that matter, the evidence Neville Longbottom had gathered to exacting standards, then presented and explained; his auror façade perfect, unflappable.

Draco, too, made a superior witness. Hermione had coached him to the limits allowed by law, and he had assiduously studied her lessons. 

After his verdict came down Rosscot attempted to plead his case directly to Narcissa himself as he was led away in chains, but Harry deftly threw a wall of smoke up between them. All Rosscot could manage in response was a confused wail. 

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Harry offered to take them out for dinner in celebration, but Narcissa pled exhaustion, despite dinner being hours away. So Draco settled her at home, double-checked the Living Wards and his connection to them, and had Vissy and Bippy promise to call the moment she awoke. 

Then he Flooed to Harry’s and sat, heavily, on Harry’s grass-green chesterfield. Harry was at his hand moments later with a full tea tray, plus the offer of two empty glasses and a full bottle of scotch.

Draco 'hemmed’ in question.

“Lesson of years,” Harry said, and gently petted back Draco’s stiffly gelled hair.

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Draco hoped for a night of wild, distracting debauchery. Harry demurred. 

“Not tonight,” he said, leading Draco to his enormous bathtub. 

“Tonight is for comfort. Relaxing. A hot bath, a full glass of wine. You and your Mum have been through quite a lot. You won. Now it’s time to release some tension.”

“I can think of a few ways to release tension,” Draco snickered; staring at his boyfriend’s arse as Harry bent to fill the bath.

“I’m eager to accept your many lewd invitations,” Harry said over his shoulder. “Promise. Starting sometime tomorrow. Tonight, let me care for you.”

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They drank sweet wine and lingered in the tub, talking over their experiences of the crime, investigation and trial and considering possible aftermaths.

“Her invitation to visit Landers remains,” Draco said, leaning back into Harry’s wet embrace. His shoulder was a sturdy and comfortable shelf for the back of Draco’s head. His hand rested gentle and stable on Draco’s thigh. “I checked with Landers myself.”

“You don’t think that’s a little… infantilizing?”

“I was discreet,” Draco grumbled, turning his face away. “I worry about her. Johannesburg is quite far.”

“Very sweet,” Harry murmured, kissing Draco’s hair. “But she’s an adult.”

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“M’well aware.” Draco sniffed. “She’s old enough to be my mother, after all.”

“You know what I mean,” Harry said, huffing a quiet laugh into Draco’s hair.

Draco smiled, in spite of himself. Even pissy, he could make Harry laugh. That felt good.

“I needed to know more about this _Dizon_ ,” Draco insisted. “Mother herself expressed some uncertainty about him, his invitations. You weren’t there for that, I don’t think.” He screwed up his forehead for a moment, trying to remember. “But she essentially requested that I develop an opinion,” Draco said.

“And?” Harry asked.

“He seems... acceptable,” Draco admitted.

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“He’s a public figure, though. Wizarding Council, or somesuch.”

“Then hopefully that means he’s careful not to be stupid. You know, you have to let her go back,” Harry said. “With your blessing,” he finished, a determined glint in his eye.

“I know,” Draco said. “I wanted her out of my hair anyway. It’s just… weird.”

“She clearly finds your needs ‘weird’ as well,” Harry said, less fervent now. “But she’s trying hard to be mature about them anyway.”

“Dammit, Harry,” Draco huffed. “Let me whine? Just a little?”

“Sure,” Harry said, grinning broadly and laying back against the tub.

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“Thank you,” Draco said, sounding petulant. “I was _planning_ , I will have you know, to make sure she knows I’m fine with whatever she decides. England, South Africa, back and forth, whatever she wants. The manor wards will welcome her.”

“That’s lovely,” Harry said, lifting both hands to scratch slowly through Draco’s damp hair. 

“Unh… so is that,” Draco said, relaxing further onto Harry.

Harry let Draco enjoy the scratching for a good five minutes before he cleared his throat. “Er, so, I was wondering if you’d be willing to go out with me later. On a date. In public.”

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“Oh,” Draco said. “Well, we had talked about that before, hadn’t we?”

“You brought it up once,” Harry agreed, wrapping his arms around Draco’s wet torso. “And while I don’t think I ever said anything negative about the idea, I can’t remember ever saying anything particularly encouraging, either. I sort of… figured that out today, when we were in the courtroom together.”

“With the press,” Draco added.

“I don’t want anyone else to define this for us,” Harry said, sounding determined again. Draco loved the way Harry could sound like nothing in the universe would keep him from his goals.

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“I wasn’t looking for a lover when you asked me to check your wards.” Harry continued. “I wasn’t hoping for a boyfriend because I was fine on my own. As, I believe, you were. Neither of us _needed_ a man. We were both happy, engaged in meaningful work, spending time with people who cared about us. But when we made a connection, we each found something special. What we’re building here, this is no accident. I’m taking deliberate steps. Toward you. _With_ you. Because you are important to me, Draco, and because I can feel the… rightness of this relationship.”

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“Merlin, Harry,” Draco said. “Nothing by halves, eh?”

“Too much?” Harry said, cuddling Draco. He put his face in Draco’s neck and murmured a spell to warm the bathwater once again.

“No,” Draco said, turning in Harry’s arms. “ _No_. Not too much. You are…” he paused and inhaled enough to expand his ribcage. “You _are_ a lot,” he said, and chuckled lightly. “I can admit that.”

“So can I,” Harry said, sounding sheepish and still cuddled into Draco’s neck.

“But you’re also… amazing,” Draco finished. “If you were trying to get me to fall for you, Harry. Well. You’ve succeeded.”

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“Brilliant,” Harry said mildly. “My evil plan succeeded.” His deadpan delivery was belied by tight arms around Draco’s torso and a firming erection at Draco’s entrance.

“Evil plan my arse,” Draco dismissed. “You’re clearly—ayh!?”

“I do love your arse…” Harry said, squirming behind Draco. 

“Yes, the way you’re attempting to enter it right now gives you away,” Draco said, aiming for a stern tone and failing.

“Not… enter, exactly,” Harry said, pretending innocence. “Just… get closer.”

“Waterproof lube?” Draco said, because whatever Harry said, this felt like it was about to become anal sex, and he was… not opposed.

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They ended up in bed, as waterproof lube was neither to be found nor conjured. Draco was not opposed to this, either. Neither had Harry been, judging by the goofy grin he sported now in their post-coital glow. The way he was caressing Draco’s face and offering intermittent kisses seemed a good indicator as well.

“I feel the same, you know,” Draco said, feeling uncharacteristically secure. “I didn’t need a man. I wasn’t pining for a boyfriend. I was proud of my work and enjoying life. But I think this relationship…” 

He paused, and Harry squeezed his hand in encouragement.

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“I think this relationship,” Draco continued, forging past old habits of uncertainty and the longstanding assumption that he wasn’t wanted, “has tremendous potential for success. And so, I was wondering, if…”

“Yes?” Harry encouraged again, clearly eager to hear more.

“I was wondering if you would consider moving into the Manor with me,” Draco finished. He exhaled then, quiet but obvious, and looked at the ceiling.

Harry gently turned Draco’s face with his hand and smiled when they made eye contact. “I absolutely would consider it,” he said. “I was planning tonight to ask you to move to HillSide, actually.”

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“I would love to live together,” Draco said, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. Then, uncomfortable with how well everything was suddenly going, he changed the subject. “Hey, I thought we weren’t going to have sex tonight?”

“Oops?” Harry said. His cheeks turned pink. “Yeah, I mean, I had felt we shouldn’t do anything really vigorous. Or adventurous? But maybe we shouldn’t have done anything at all. Was it ok?”

“We got really relaxed in the bath,” Draco said, not wanting Harry to be upset. “Then the sex was sweet and slow. It was just what I needed.” 

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Harry looked relieved. “Good. I totally had this plan, then you were naked and warm in my arms, and….”

“Flattery will get you nearly anything, Potter,” Draco said. He smiled, again feeling able to discuss intimate concerns. “Let’s talk over the substance of this. We both want to live together, but neither wants to move.”

“Both houses have advantages,” Harry said, nodding. “A pro/con list might help us choose. One way or the other, though, let’s live together. We’ll figure out the best place.”

“As long as both of us sleep there every night, anywhere is the best place.”

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“Who knew you could be so damn romantic?” Harry gave Draco a soppy smile.

Draco gave a mock scowl. No one had ever called him romantic before. He loved it, but it made him a little uncomfortable, too. Ignoring that, he said, “let’s sleep here tonight, then mine tomorrow. Afterwards we’ll start that list of pros and cons.”

“Smart,” Harry said, and yawned. “We’ll go back and forth for a bit. Experiment.”

“I like that,” Draco said. He doused each candle, and as the room fell into near complete darkness, he turned to pull Harry more fully into his arms. 

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“We can be like a human potions experiment,” Draco agreed. It was ridiculous and also touching, since Harry had hated potions, but it was how Draco made his living.

“Yeah,” Harry said, snuggling into Draco’s embrace. “Like the difference between the same ingredients in a copper cauldron versus a ceramic one. Do we work better together in the Manor, or HillSide?”

“Ceramic cauldron,” Draco said, laughing quietly. “Merlin, Harry. No one uses ceramic anymore.”

“No?” Harry said, and he yawned again. “Coulda sworn I saw one at a client’s house.”

“Sleep, Harry,” Draco insisted. Harry nodded once, and they slept.

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At first, going back and forth was fun. Like the sleepovers Harry hadn’t been permitted as a child. They learned the nooks and crannies of one another’s homes, shared dinner with Narcissa every other night, bought extra toothbrushes and shared shampoo.

Then Harry couldn’t find a book he needed.

“Strange,” he said, looking under a chair after _Accio_ didn’t work. “I was just reading it.”

“What’s it called?” Draco asked. “What color is the cover?”

“Cursed Wards, Best Solutions,” Harry said. “I need to study it before I tackle a bizarre job I committed to for next week. Cover’s brown.”

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“Must’ve left the damn thing at your house,” Harry said after quite a few more minutes of searching. “I absolutely cannot find it.”

“Really?” Draco said, looking up from the desk he’d been searching. “But you said you were just reading it, and we left my house right after breakfast.”

“Well,” Harry said, “I could be remembering wrong. I should check the Manor, at any rate.”

Draco fought an urge to check the time. “Do you need me to come along?”

Harry sighed. “Suppose you’d better. I still look a bit strange to your Living Wards when you’re not there.”

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Together they walked out and around to the Floo Harry had installed outside his home for added protection. They flooed to the Manor and waited while the wards squirmed, then settled. 

Harry strode toward Draco’s bedroom. Draco called for Bippy.

* * * * * * * 

“And it is brown,” Draco said, finishing a long, careful description.

“Bippy will seek,” she promised, but Harry was walking back into the room, book in hand. 

“Under your bed,” he said, still looking annoyed.

“Strange spot,” Draco said. “Pity my house-elves can’t enter HillSide.”

“That would be simpler,” Harry agreed as he threw the Floo powder into the flames.

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The next time it happened, it was to Draco. “Where is that catalog I was reading a few hours ago?” he wondered aloud one evening. 

Harry looked up from a book about warding homes in densely Muggled areas and the resultant side effects of all that nearby electricity. “You had it before dinner, right? The one you were using to shop for birthday presents?”

“Yes,” Draco said, hands on hips, surveying the room. “ _Accio catalog_!” Four catalogs fluttered into the room and arranged themselves on the small table next to Draco’s favorite chair. None were the gift catalog he wanted. 

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“Dammit,” he muttered. “Why were both Luna and Blaise born in February, anyway? I never know what to get either of them, and now this.”

“Come now,” Harry said, standing up. “Let’s check HillSide. That’s probably where it got to.”

Together they put on heavy cloaks, then walked outside to apparate more smoothly to the edge of Harry’s wards. They waited together for Harry’s wards to accept, then welcome them, they apparated again to get inside the house, and eventually Draco found the catalog in Harry’s bathroom.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Harry said, kissing Draco’s temple. “Everyone reads in the loo.”

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After the catalog, it was a bottle of saffron accidentally left behind, in Harry’s kitchen. “I would just go ahead and cook without it,” Harry said, trying not to feel grumpy, “but this dish is so _dull_ without saffron.”

Tuesday, Draco was highly amused to suddenly need a ceramic cauldron, and didn’t Harry happen to have one he had inherited from Sirius? 

“Yeah….” Harry said, a glint in his eye. “In the storage shed, I think.”

Sunday, Harry needed his favorite winter cloak. “It was warm when we left!”

Friday Draco needed his broom. “I’ll never beat you without it.”

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They complained to Narcissa about it after dinner one night.

“It’s our wards,” Harry said, playing with Draco’s fingers as he spoke. “We both have such overwhelming security needs, and neither of us can really move out of our homes permanently, since our businesses are based out of them.”

Narcissa sipped her wine. “What about a diffusion door? They aren’t common, but I think a childhood friend had one. It helped her visit her grandparents in Wales whenever she liked, but kept her grandparents out of her mother’s hair.”

“Tell me more about that,” Harry said, leaning forward a bit. 

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“Well,” Narcissa looked unsure. “I knew little about it. I never went through! But it was a literal doorway in Cellenina’s house. If she wanted to visit her grandparents, she could open the door at the end of the hallway where her bedroom was, walk through, and, apparently, she would be magically transported from that hallway, here in Wiltshire, to her grandparents' home, who lived somewhere in Wales.”

“That’s not necessarily far,” Harry said, frowning. “Parts of Wales are only 40 miles away. Do you know if distance is a factor with this magic? HillSide is over 300 miles away.”

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“I do not,” Narcissa said, clearly sorry. “I am not even certain I have the right name for the doorway, now that I think about this.”

“Perhaps your childhood friend, who had one, knows more,” Harry said, sitting taller. “Could you help me contact her? Even if the doorway cannot solve Draco’s and my problem, I could sell that apparatus. It sounds exceedingly useful, under at least some circumstances, even if it is very limited in application.”

“You talk so differently when you are being professional,” Draco said quietly, leaning in slightly and putting a hand low on Harry’s thigh.

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Harry felt his face heat and tried to discreetly look away from Narcissa, whose smirk he did not quite manage to miss.

“Goodnight, Draco darling. Harry,” Narcissa said, her amusement audible if subtle. “I think the time has come for me to retire for the evening.”

“If you wish,” Draco said politely, but Harry heard the insincerity. So did Narcissa, from the increased tilt to her little smile, but she called for Vissy and headed upstairs anyway.

“Merlin,” Harry said, hanging his head and huffing out one pained laugh. “Must you do things like that in front of your _Mum_?”

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“Frankly,” Draco said, standing, straddling his boyfriend’s thighs, depositing himself in Harry’s lap; putting his hands in Harry’s hair, “yes, I must. But only once or twice a month.” 

He kissed Harry, who kissed him back, then grinned. 

“Besides,” Draco said, kissing Harry again, this time going for that sensitive spot under Harry’s ear, “you really do turn me on with that professional tone and speaking style.”

“Interesting,” Harry said, amused and becoming more and more randy with every kiss. He secured his hands under Draco’s muscular arse and stood, Draco in his arms, legs now wrapped around Harry’s waist.

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“Harry!” Draco laughed.

Harry apparated them into Draco’s bedroom.

“Shall we talk about… wards?” Harry husked into Draco’s ear as he gently set Draco down on the enormous bed.

“Maybe later,” Draco said, laughing again, pulling at Harry’s shoulders.

“Potions, perhaps?” Harry teased, his fingers pulling Draco’s shirt from where it was tucked neatly into his trousers.

“Harry,” Draco said, trying not to whine. “Stop talking. More kissing.”

“No academic talk?” Harry murmured between nips to Draco’s jaw. “Who are you and what’ve you done with my sexy, pedantic boyfriend?”

“Shut up and get down here,” Draco growled.

Harry obeyed.

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At breakfast the next morning, Narcissa kindly agreed to seek Cellenina. 

“She didn’t go to Hogwarts. She went to Beauxbatons, like her mother. I recall she married a Spanish boy? At any rate, sadly, we lost touch years ago. But I suspect I can find her nonetheless. Give me a day or two?”

Harry and Draco had plenty to do, so it was an easy request to grant. Draco was busy tweaking his new stop-bleed potion (the one for which he’d sought a ceramic cauldron) and Harry had enough jobs backed up to keep him occupied for nearly a fortnight. 

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Occupied, but not deterred. Invasive thoughts kept seeping in. Harry had to force himself not to bother every customer about a potential passway between properties. He expected, if he could master the technique, it would be a huge seller. But as he didn’t have the slightest idea how one was accomplished, it was much too early. 

He tried the library. Sadly, “diffusion door” brought him nothing of use, and looking for spells regarding magical doorways and pass-thrus and other generic indicators brought him so _much_ he was overwhelmed. Especially since nothing he checked looked remotely like what Narcissa had described.

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Instead of two days, it took Narcissa almost two weeks to get back into contact with her childhood friend. Cellenina Iorwerth had indeed moved to Spain where her (then new) husband’s family owned a flying carpet factory. Unfortunately for the Serranos, Spain outlawed flying carpets eight years later, so the Serranos chose to uproot and move to Rabat, Morocco. All that transition meant it wasn’t simple to track Cellenina down.

Luckily Cellenina was thrilled to hear from Narcissa.

Unluckily she knew almost nothing about the doorway she had used to get between her house, and that of her paternal grandparents. 

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But she did know one very useful thing. 

“It was called a Fusion Doorway,” she told Harry through the crackly International Floo. “I am quite certain of that. Just as Narcissa told you, it connected the houses and was extremely simple to use. Now, I do not know how it was made, how it influenced the wards, or how old it was, but I am quite certain it was a Fusion Doorway!”

“Thank you, Señora Serrano!” 

Harry rushed back to the library and began checking out books. This time, under a far narrower focus.

And eventually, he hit the jackpot.

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“It’s going to take quite some time to master this,” Harry said the next evening at dinner, “but it looks like something I’ll be able to do. I should set aside at least three days just to practice the processes, though. They’re ridiculously complex.”

“Oh?” Draco said politely, but since he honestly looked interested, Harry began to explain. “It’s nothing remotely like Apparition. Instead, it is more similar to Floo technology than anything, but regular Floos rely on that huge interconnected system.”

“They benefit one another?” Narcissa asked.

“Yes!” Harry said, excited. He put down his fork and learned forward.

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Harry managed to generally explain Fusion Doorways to Draco and Narcissa, but not before dinner ended.

“I wonder, Harry,” Narcissa asked. They sat together after Vissy and Bippy cleared the table. “Will you need me here in order to make the Fusion Doorway work? Not to presume I am invited into HillSide, of course.”

“Of course you’re invited,” Harry said warmly. “And I don’t know of any reason. Why do you ask?”

“It is time I return to Johannesburg. Dizon has once again reiterated his invitation, and I do not wish to miss the entire South African summer,” Narcissa replied.

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“Y’know,” Harry mused as they read in bed before turning off the lights, “I think I’m honestly going to miss your Mum while she’s in South Africa.”

“While she _what_?” Draco said sharply.

Harry hung his head. “Did she seriously not tell you herself? Ugh.” He twisted his neck and grinned at Draco, sideways. “You two have a weird relationship.”

Draco crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Harry.

“Tuesday evening, after dinner, you were on the Floo to Blaise, I think. Narcissa told me she wants to head back to Johannesburg.”

Draco frowned. “And you never mentioned?”

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Harry straightened his neck and angled around to make better eye contact. “It never occurred to me I was meant to relay that. She lives where you work! Eats lunch with you! She could have told you any time Wednesday, Thursday or today.”

“That’s… true,” Draco said, but he was still frowning. 

“Hey,” Harry said, stroking Draco’s clenched fingers open. “Maybe she assumes anything she tells me, she’s told us both. Like we’re a real couple to her.”

“Or she didn’t want to allow me the satisfaction of yelling, before you had a chance to soften me up,” Draco grumbled.

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“You would’ve flown off the handle at her?” Harry said. They both knew he held back disapproval. Harry still wore his emotions all over his face.

“I… probably,” Draco admitted. “And no, she doesn’t deserve my anger for wanting to go visit her… friend.”

“That’s the real problem, isn’t it,” Harry said, nodding in satisfaction, like he’d solved the puzzle of a tricky, tangled ward. 

“She is divorced,” Draco said. “My father was a nightmare. He’ll be in Azkaban until he dies. But, I….”

“It hurts, I guess?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded, clearly a bit miserable.

Harry pulled him close.

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“Which means the stop-bleed potion is ready to send off to St Mungos for testing,” Draco said, picking his fork back up with a bite of the tuna steak Vissy had served him and Mother for lunch. “Their standards are, of course, extremely high, but I feel confident this potion will meet, or even exceed them.”

“Marvelous,” Narcissa said, her smile soft. “I am proud of you, son.” She finished her own tuna steak and patted her mouth with her napkin. “I shall soon be bragging about you to Dizon.”

“Oh?” Draco said, raising one eyebrow and waiting for more.

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“Did I not tell you?” Narcissa said calmly, but without quite meeting Draco’s eye. “I am finally returning to Johannesburg. I leave the day after tomorrow. Dizon kindly arranged for my transportation. It is an unpleasant trip by Floo or Portkey, much too far.”

“Indeed,” Draco agreed. “Is it not five, six thousand miles from here? Even apparating all that way would be extreme.” He gave a dry chuckle.

“Quite so,” Mother agreed, “therefore, Dizon will be meeting me at Cellenina’s home, in Rabat. We plan to slowly portkey southward together, through Africa.”

“That sounds nice,” Draco said, deliberately mild. 

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“Yes,” his mother said, slightly fast. “We will spend several days in Morocco — it will be so lovely to catch up with Cellenina, to meet her husband and children — then we’ll head south to Timbuktu. Dizon tells me wizards have been living there for over four thousand years! I’m eager to see the museums and there is a restaurant he wants to take me to. But, Dizon says while we are in Mali we also must visit Djenne. The Monday market there is not to be missed. Silks and wax prints and musical instruments and beautiful toys for his grandchildren.”

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“After that we plan to spend a few days at Loango National Park in Western Gabon, even though it is almost entirely Muggle. Can you imagine?”

Draco said nothing, so Narcissa took a forkful of wilted spinach with slivered almonds. Draco ripped off a bit of his roll and popped it in his mouth.

“After that Dizon wanted to show me Lake Nakuru, in Kenya. His friend Merlin Mwangi lives near there and is apparently very eager to meet me? So kind.”

Draco merely nodded.

Mother sipped her wine and smiled warmly, but Draco just tipped his head at her.

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“Dizon said we would visit with the Mwangi family for just two or three days, because he very much wants to show me his house in the Okavango Delta, in Botswana.”

Draco nodded once.

“Dizon is a student of African history, so he chose to build near the Tsodilo Hills. He wants to show me the San villages near there. Apparently, they have rock paintings that are thousands of years old.”

“Fascinating,” Draco said and sipped his wine.

His mother took a drink as well, a bit longer than her last. She ate her last bite of spinach and almonds.

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“After that, we will be near enough to Johannesburg that apparition is easy: back to the compound he shares with his children, daughters-in-law and grandchildren.”

“A grand tour of the whole continent,” Draco said, still firmly noncommittal.

“Well, a good deal of it,” Mother said. “Africa is large, with tremendously varied geography. Dizon is quite proud to be African.”

“It sounds like a delightful trip,” Draco said. “I look forward to seeing photos.”

“Yes,” Mother said, looking at her plate. She spread her napkin over her lap again, though Draco would’ve bet a galleon it had already been perfectly aligned.

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“I should... I apologize, Draco. I should have told you of my plans sooner.”

“You are an adult,” Draco said, maintaining an external placidity he knew had to be at least slightly irritating.

“As you are,” Mother said. She looked up at him, straightening her already straight spine. “And I neglected to treat you as such for far too long. I hope that I… I have attempted to correct that error, of late,” she said. 

Her words were formal, measured, but Draco heard the pleading in her tone, slight though it was. He knew his mother very well, after all.

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“I feel much more adult these days, Mother,” Draco said, bracing his hands on his thighs and leaning forward just a touch. Mother waited for him to continue.

“I thank you for the changes you have made in your behavior, as well as in your expectations.”

“You and Harry seem very happy,” Mother offered. “I noticed on Monday, those flowers he brought you.”

“And Tuesday I had Vissy serve his favorite for dinner,” Draco said, remembering Harry’s gratitude. Shepherd’s pie had not been on the Manor’s menu since Draco had been small, until he realized how much Harry loved it.

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“Little things like that, I think, make for a successful relationship,” Mother said, sounding both wistful and unsure.

Draco hoped she would continue. Was she was thinking of Lucius, Dizon, or something else entirely?

“Monday, as you know, I visited with my sister for tea. We spoke of her late husband. Her late Ted was… everything your father was not.” Mother looked at her lap, then out the window. 

“Andromeda loved him so. Loves him still, really, though he is gone years now. I almost envy her that, though of course I do not envy the way she misses him.

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“Still, what it would be to have a man who cares for _me_! Respects me, sees my worth as a witch, a woman...”

Draco waited, but Mother just looked out the window. 

“Father did not,” he stated.

“No,” she agreed. “Monday to Sunday, as my own mother liked to say, he was himself. And Lucius put himself above everyone. Well, for as long as he could.”

Draco nodded. 

Mother frowned.

“And Landers?” he finally asked.

Mother hesitated, but when she finally smiled, it was sweet. “I have… sincere hopes,” she said, and Draco knew he would have to accept that.

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“Mother finally admitted she is leaving the country,” Draco told Harry that evening as soon as he returned from an unusually lengthy ward installation in Rhosneigr.

“Yeah?” Harry said, and kissed Draco on the cheek, clearly slightly distracted. “Can you tell me all about it while I get ready for dinner? I need a shower, and I suspect I should hear the whole story before we sit down with your Mum.”

Draco ended up following Harry into the bathroom and telling him everything as Harry washed, magic keeping the water inside the enclosure so Harry could hear everything Draco said.

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“So they will be touring the whole African continent, and I… I had to refrain from asking her a million intrusive questions.”

“Like what?” Harry asked, toweling his hair.

“Like is she sleeping with him!” Draco said, gesturing broadly, the words exploding out. “Is he paying for all this, or is he expecting her to contribute? How long will she be living there? How big is his family? Am I expected to host them, here, when winter comes to Johannesburg?”

“It’s unusual for you get worked up like this,” Harry said, his manner more measured than Draco was accustomed to.

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“This is my mother!” Draco said. “She is the closest blood relative I have left!”

“As long as it isn’t because she’s female,” Harry said, slipping on a sock.

Draco sat down, hard. “Holy hell,” he said in a harsh whisper. “Do you think that’s where this is coming from? Sexism?”

Harry took his hand, despite needing to finish getting dressed. “Maybe a little,” he said, his tone and words unusually gentle, even for him. “Are you trying to protect her, or are you just… going to miss her?”

“Um,” Draco said quietly, staring at their feet. “Both, I think?”

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“Well love,” Harry said, standing up and kissing Draco on the head, “I think you need to keep that in mind when we sit down to dinner with her. In,” he checked his watch, “five minutes.”

“Indeed,” Draco said stoically, swiftly freshening his outfit with a sharp swirl of magic.

“You smell good,” Harry said, leaning in. “Wish I’d gotten home earlier.”

“Oh, that’s all I need right now,” Draco snapped. 

Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

“Wish I hadn’t taught you that trick.” Draco said, wry.

“Rats.” Harry replied, just as dry.

Draco laughed and opened the bedroom door.

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“Was dinner edible?” Draco asked after Mother left. She would expect them to join her, but they could take a few minutes alone. “I could hardly taste it, I was so distracted.”

“Yes, love,” Harry said, smirking. He kissed Draco’s temple and rose.

“Thank you Vissy, Bippy,” Harry told the house-elves, who’d begun clearing the dishes. “We’d appreciate tea in a half-hour in the sitting room, please. No pudding tonight. Dinner was delicious.”

Vissy nodded, Bippy dipped a little bow, Harry pulled Draco to his feet. “You were very gracious with your Mum. She’ll head southward with a calm heart.”

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“And dinner was more than ‘edible’,” Harry continued, pulling Draco around to stand right in front of him. He held onto both Draco’s hands and looked him right in the eye. “I want you to know, I’ve noticed how the menu around here has changed since I moved in. We had Shepherd’s pie Tuesday, Beef stew last week, most nights we have brown rice or potatoes, there was Spag Bol, chicken with noodles….”

“And treacle tart for pudding once a week,” Draco said, blushing and looking at Harry’s feet.

“Yes,” Harry said. “And treacle tart for pudding once a week.”

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“Mum said something about how little things make a relationship stronger,” Draco replied, still looking at Harry’s feet. “But those were easy changes. I like all those meals, too. I don’t want you to think I’m forcing down food I find inedible just to make you, er, I mean….”

“You don’t have to trick me into staying, Draco. And I appreciate the little things you do for me. All of them.” Harry kissed Draco on the lips. “And, perhaps even better, I think I can finally set aside the five days I expect it’ll take to install that Fusion Doorway.”

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“Five?” Draco exclaimed.

“Our door’s the experiment,” Harry said, sighing. “I have to learn how to do this! Also, er, I need to warn you.” He fidgeted with a teaspoon Bippy had left behind, looking at it instead of Draco’s face. “Once I finish, there’s a chance I’ll need to redo our Living Wards.” Harry blushed.

“You mean, _we_ might have to,” Draco said, frowning. “I distinctly recall spending hours up on my roof last time, freezing my arse off.”

“Thank Merlin that’s hyperbole,” Harry said, grinning. “You have such a hot arse.”

Now it was Draco’s turn to blush.

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“Stop distracting me,” Draco said, watching Harry’s fingers. “Instead, explain why the hell the doorway will take five days?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Harry said, finally putting the spoon down to take Draco’s hands in his again. “I’m just making a conservative estimate. The extra day is there if I have to redo the Living Wards. See, this way, if it takes me only _four_ days, you’ll be happy!”

“Ridiculous man,” Draco said, smiling. “I’ll be happy no matter how long it takes. If you make this work, we can live in both houses and not have to choose.”

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“No more cumbersome trips because we left behind a damn umbrella or cloak or whatever in our other house,” Harry added.

“We can potentially have two weather patterns to choose from any time that we want to go out….”

“And ride our brooms!”

“I want to ride your broom,” Draco murmured, syrup dark. 

Harry cleared his throat. “Don’t say things like that right before we socialize with your Mum.”

“Maybe I will not mind so _very_ much when she leaves for her visit with Landers,” Draco said before winking cheekily, slipping his hands from Harry’s, and striding for the door.

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Harry watched the tight spheres of his boyfriend’s arse flex in his well-fitting trousers as he walked away. Then, chuckling at himself, he shook off the distraction to follow Draco into the sitting room. 

Harry felt guilty since Narcissa had been waiting patiently for at least fifteen minutes. They should be more polite. They would have plenty of time to fool around after she went to bed tonight. And after she left for Africa there wouldn’t be anyone around to interfere. 

Much as he genuinely did like her, Harry wasn’t going to mind Narcissa being away all that much, either.

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Harry entered the sitting room to see Draco and Narcissa studying a colorful, topographical globe. Narcissa did a spell to compare the sizes of England and Africa (it was almost ludicrous how small their island looked superimposed upon that enormous continent), another to show Draco a map of her planned journey with Dizon, then one to help discern travel options for visiting her newly re-found friend, Cellenina. 

Draco, having traveled to Africa many times over the past few years, had good suggestions for ways his mother could comfortably return to Rabat — both from England and perhaps from Johannesburg as well.

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Harry did not know much about the red tape and inconveniences of international travel, but he could admire the globe, a Black heirloom. It had built-in magnification spells that allowed him a better look at any country he liked. It was also self-updating regarding both political boundaries and natural disasters. Harry found himself mesmerized by a blizzard forming over the part of the USA called “Minnesota.”

“I once watched a tsunami hit Indonesia,” Narcissa confessed quietly. “It was quite shocking, even from this perspective.”

“I can imagine,” Harry said, intrigued and horrified. He turned his attention back to South Africa.

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Harry started working on the Fusion Doorway the morning Narcissa left for her trip.

“Mu ha ha,” he joked to Draco when he eventually returned from International Portkey Departures. “This installation will take _days_! Now I shall get my revenge for all the time you took with… the… uh....” Harry paused, confusion passing briefly over his face.

“With what, then?” Draco said, amused. “Whatever do I deserve to be punished for, then? I am simply desperate to know, darling.”

“Oh shush,” Harry groused, turning a little pink. “Don’t distract me with flirting. You’re the perfect boyfriend, and you know it.”

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“I am? But this is too perfect. You _must_ tell me more.” He batted his eyes at Harry so goofily that Harry laughed out loud.

“Leave me be, you nutter, before this damn doorway takes even _longer_.”

“And talking about punishment is flirting, you say?” Draco continued, ignoring Harry’s request and worse — waggling his eyebrows.

“If you don’t quit,” Harry said, cheeks now red, eyes turned up to the ceiling, “then I really will need to take revenge, because you’ll have bollocksed up my work schedule. I have five days for our project, and no more. Now shoo! Potions!”

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That night Harry cuddled a distinctly less flirtatious and lighthearted Draco.

“I will miss her,” Draco said, repeatedly running his fingers over Harry’s forearm; soothed by the rhythm, or perhaps the texture. “Which includes worrying.”

Harry nodded, unwilling to interject. 

“I’m feeling… every emotion, all at once. Like they attacked.”

Harry waited.

“An epidemic of emotion,” Draco said. He snorted.

Harry waited.

“You asked before, if I worry because she’s female. But... I think it’s just… worrying.”

Draco hid his face in Harry’s bare chest.

“Don’t be embarrassed to love your mother,” Harry finally whispered. 

Draco chuckled out one sob.

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“Sometimes I wonder what the hell I did to deserve you,” Draco whispered after they’d turned off the lights and said their goodnights.

Harry sputtered out a syllable, but Draco silenced him gently, one finger to the lips.

“I suppose it isn’t rational, but… earlier, when you declared me the perfect boyfriend… you know that is actually you, do you not?”

Harry shook his head ‘no.’ Draco’s eyes had adjusted enough to see the confusion and… was that a little dismay on Harry’s face? Draco kissed him once, petted his hair. “I can’t believe how… easy-going you are,” Draco explained. 

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“How many men would just… adopt my mother? And spend _days_ , postponing paid work, to connect our homes. You are not even certain it will work. Not to mention setting aside my Hogwarts... stupidity. 

“You countenance me when I’m snappish. When I’m silent. When I am drowning in work, and conversely, when I’ve none and am positive bankruptcy is imminent. I suspect if there were… an epidemic, and I had to brew cures for weeks on end, you’d even accept that.”

“Can I respond yet?” Harry said, gentle amusement clear in his voice.

“I suppose,” Draco said, embarrassed and nervous.

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Harry stroked Draco’s fringe off his forehead gently before he started to speak. “That’s a wonderful list of ways I’m good to you, and I can agree. I do try to do all of that. But I work hard to be good to you because I really want this relationship to work. Because you are….” Harry paused. “Merlin, man, you are amazing.”

Draco couldn’t look Harry in the eye. “How can you not have _any_ reservations about me?” It came out in a hoarse whisper.

Harry shook his head. “You need reassurance? My pleasure. Let me count the ways, Draco.

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“First of all, you are incredibly intelligent. You just ‘get’ potions. The theory, the practice, all of it. Nothing withheld, and better than anyone else I’ve ever met. That’s including Snape, and he was a fucking potions genius, even if he was an arse and a bad teacher for anyone he didn’t like. 

“Second of all, you’re probably the most tenacious bastard I’ve ever met. Who the hell takes every blow you took, every setback, and comes out ahead anyway, the way you keep doing?”

Draco closed his eyes, overwhelmed, but he knew better than to ask Harry to stop.

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“First they wouldn’t let you back to Hogwarts, so you did correspondence courses. Then you couldn’t get a job, so you created a business out of thin air. Your father went to prison, so you helped your mother divorce him. Divorcing Lucius was supposed to strip Narcissa of her wealth and her place in this house, but you prevented that. 

“Another man would have had reservations about getting together with me, after our childhood tensions, and knowing that people can be... pretty weird about fame. And about me. But you ignored all that in favor of chasing your own happiness.”

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Harry gave Draco a sad smile. “Which means my happiness doesn’t have to take a back seat to the manipulations and interferences of fans and the press. I doubt you can know how much that means to me. Men usually panic and run when they realize what dating me is actually going to mean for them in public.

“As for the doorway, have you not heard the approximately six thousand times I’ve gushed about how much money this could make me, if I can learn to do it properly?” He gave Draco a truly insouciant smile, and finally Draco laughed.

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“Yeah, you can’t shut up about that, I agree.”

“What can I say?” Harry winked. “I like earning money as much as the next small business owner.”

“I guess….” Draco said, taking advantage of the low light to pretend Harry couldn’t see every emotion on his face. “Well, at least we both work for ourselves. I suppose that makes it easier for us to understand each other.”

“Draco,” Harry said, caressing Draco’s face. “It feels like you're fighting off panic. This relationship is so far past little coincidences and conveniences like that. Don’t you know how much I love you?”

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Draco felt his eyes nearly bug out. He’d been holding back words like that for weeks, terrified Harry would not be able to return them. 

He urged himself. Speak out. Answer! 

He could say “of course I know, darling.” 

Or perhaps he should say “as much as I love you?” 

Or he might be playful, ask “how could I? I demand you show me.” He could wink, after. Or kiss Harry.

Any of those would do, he told himself firmly. He should choose; react. Harry already looked distressed.

The tears started, then, instead, as Draco lost all semblance of control.

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“Love!” Harry exclaimed, worried. 

Draco buried his face in Harry’s chest, hoping to exhaust his supply of tears before they could really begin. He inhaled deeply, striving to stop weeping. Harry’s arms came around his back. He tried to relax into the embrace.

As soon as he thought he could speak without crying any harder, Draco tried to explain without looking Harry in the eye.

“You have never tried to make me feel inferior,” he began. Harry arms tightened in what Draco assumed was alarm, but he kept speaking, needing to get it all out before he lost his nerve.

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“Still, our relationship hasn’t just been between us two. We also have history to contend with. And society. And my mother, though she’s gotten a lot better about my being gay. Thank you for helping with that.”

Draco sniffled and Harry reached behind him, grabbing at a supply of tissues and handing Draco a few.

“From that first night when you invited me to your home, through just recently, when my mother confided in you instead of me, you’ve been... amazing. Open, giving, honest. You’ve never let anything get in the way of your happiness. I, on the other hand….”

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Draco took a deep breath and stopped to look into Harry’s eyes, though he feared he would see pity. Instead, Harry looked… worried? Draco patted his face with the tissue, taking a deep breath and working to collect himself.

“Would you let things get in the way of your happiness?” Harry asked eventually.

Draco couldn’t help the miserable laugh that barked out of him in response. 

“Draco,” Harry said, clearly distressed. “I know who I’m talking to. I know your father’s in jail, your mother couldn’t accept your sexuality, you paid enormous reparations, people didn’t want to buy your potions. 

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“I know all of that got in the way, and I know you couldn’t help any of that. But I am asking you, right now: are you going to let things you _do_ have control over get in the way of your happiness?”

Draco took a deep breath and looked Harry in the eyes. What he saw there calmed his heart. This was _Harry_. Who, apparently, _loved him_. And whom Draco loved back.

“No,” he said, and caressed Harry’s cheek. “You know what? No! I’m not. I love you, Harry Potter. You make me incredibly happy, and I love you.”

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Harry’s reaction was surprisingly intense. He sobbed out one abrupt noise. Tears filled his eyes. He blinked them away and gathered Draco close. “I love you, too,” he murmured into Draco’s hair. “So much.”

“Sop, meet sap,” Draco joked, but he was holding Harry as tightly as he could.

“How’d we get so damn emotional all of a sudden?” Harry wondered.

“My Mum left for the other side of the planet today,” Draco said. “Right after she finally stopped insisting I turn straight and started treating us like a real couple. I’m sure that has something to do with it.”

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“That, er, makes sense.” Harry said. He gently stroked down Draco’s back. “I’ve come to like Narcissa a lot.”

“I’m glad,” Draco said. “Because she likes you as well, very much.”

“Does she?” Harry was touched.

“Of course,” Draco responded, surprised. He pulled his wet face from Harry’s chest. “She’s pretty blatant about it.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. 

“I mean, she’s being really obvious for _her_....”

Harry laughed softly. “We should go to sleep,” he finally said.

Draco agreed. He wriggled away enough to grab his wand and clean their faces. Then he curled back into Harry’s arms. 

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Three days later, Harry cleared his throat in the entry to Draco’s lab. “So, with your mother away, there’s only so much I can test, but, I’m pretty sure the door’s done.”

Draco looked up from his cauldron. Harry had come at a good time. Either that or he had waited until Draco stopped stirring. Draco thought Harry might do that frequently, except he never remembered to ask. 

“Wait, really? Aren’t you a day early?”

“Yup,” Harry said. His smile somehow both proud and shy. “I tested it with every method I know. Then, I went through. So did Bippy.” 

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“Bippy even brought food through, and it was fine.” Harry’s face opened into a huge grin. “It’s good, Draco. Everything worked just like the spellbooks laid out. I did it all right the first time. We can live in both houses now.”

Draco gave Harry a tentative smile. “We don’t have to choose,” he stated slowly.

“No,” Harry agreed, his smile growing larger.

“When my mother comes back, she’ll be able to use it, too?”

“I can’t see why not,” Harry said.

“Can I try it?”

“I was hoping you’d ask,” Harry said. He swept a hand out. “Shall we?”

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“Does the Fusion Doorway seem to work as well in practice as your books suggested it would in theory?” Draco asked. They walked together toward the Manor’s most formal parlor.

“It’s fabulous,” Harry effused, waving his hands even more than he usually did when excited. Draco bit back a fond smile.

“It just feels like walking through any normal doorway,” Harry continued. “I’m deeply impressed with this magic. I see now why it takes days to properly install.” He looked at Draco sideways and gave an awkward half-smile. “Frankly, if we break up, I’m not sure how I’d remove it.”

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Draco raised an eyebrow. 

Nervous, Harry scuffed a foot against the baseboard as he walked. “We might have to just… lock both sides and forget it.”

“We simply shan’t break up, then,” Draco said confidently as he opened the parlor door and entered the room. Harry walked them over to the new door in the parlour’s wall. 

Draco reached out one tentative fingertip to stroke the woodgrain. “How nice, it looks exactly like the door that leads to the hallway.”

“That took practice,” Harry admitted. “The first three looked terrible.”

“This is the fourth?”

“Tenth,” Harry admitted.

Draco finally laughed.

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“I thought you said a moment ago that you did everything right the first time,” Draco teased.

“Everything important,” Harry said, his scowl exaggerated for effect.

“Of course you did, love,” Draco said. He reached over to squeeze Harry about the waist. “Shall we… can I… How does this work?”

“It’s as simple as it seems,” Harry said, his smile enormous. “You open the door and you walk through; right into HillSide’s front entryway.”

“Well then!” Draco said. Apprehension slipped over his features for the briefest moment, but he wiped his face clean of it, smiled, and opened the door.

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“I wanted the connection between two of our least personal spaces,” Harry said. 

Harry walked through, and smiling proudly, turned and looked through. He bounced a bit on the balls of his feet. “I don’t want your mother to feel uncomfortable using the door, or our privacy to be in jeopardy.”

“And we can just talk right through at normal volume,” Draco marvelled. “Though I’m in Wiltshire and you’re over three hundred miles north.”

“Yup, hidden in the Cheviot Hills.” Harry’s smile threatened to take over his face. 

“This is amazing, love.” Draco said. “I think you've earned a shag.”

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“I agree. So you should walk on through,” Harry said, voice deepening.

Draco took one step, paused, then closed his eyes and rushed into Harry’s arms.

“Whoa!” Harry said, pulling him in and laughing. “Why so nervous?”

“I’m sorry,” Draco said, face still in Harry’s neck. “I just… new magic. I’ve never seen it before. It didn’t exist before and now it’s here….”

“Did you not trust me?”

“I trust you!” Draco said. “It’s just. New magic. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Harry said. “I was nervous at first, too. Come on, love. You said I earned a shag, yeah?”

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Draco looked up, eyes darkening to silver. “You have definitely,” he rumbled, “earned one hell of a shag. Bedroom?”

“I don’t know…” Harry said, stroking down Draco’s back to his arse, which he squeezed. “When your mum returns we’ll have to confine ourselves to those boring bedrooms.”

Draco hummed. “An intriguing point. Where would you prefer we shag?”

“I’ve a floating hammock in my sunroom,” Harry said.

“It’s February, Harry. It’s freezing.”

“ _Magic_ ,” Harry replied. His grin was either angelic or evil, depending how Draco chose to see it.

“Very well then,” Draco decided, matching Harry’s smile. “Lead the way.”

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Panting, Draco arched his back. He loved Harry’s floating hammock. He loved _fucking_ in Harry’s floating hammock more. And he’d express his appreciation in great detail. As soon as he remembered how to breathe.

Harry just looked smug.

“Where’d you get this thing? We need one in our other house. Immediately.” 

Harry’s grin broadened. “Got it at a muggle home store and charmed it myself,” he said, and Draco looked into Harry’s mischievous, sparkling eyes and restrained himself from proposing marriage. _Change the laws,_ he promised himself. _Then marry him._

Shocked at himself, Draco inhaled deeply and forgot to speak. 

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Harry didn’t seem to mind. He charmed the sweat and semen off their skin and cast another gentle warming charm. 

“I’m glad you liked the hammock,” he said, rearranging them so Draco’s head rested on his chest. 

“You tit,” Draco teased, breathing easier now, cuddling in with a knee over Harry’s legs. “I _love_ it, and you know it. The doorway, too. That Fusion Doorway is one of the most exciting bits of magic I have ever seen, and I have Living Wards.”

“Really?” Harry said, playing along. “Those are terribly rare! Hardly anyone knows how to do those properly.”

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“Oh,” Draco joked, “I had a professional install them. Top of his field. No one you would know.”

“Who is this guy?” Harry said. “Should I be jealous?”

“Mm,” Draco said, pretending, tapping his own chin.

“So, but, you’re happy?” Harry interjected, suddenly uncertain. “With the connecting door and living together full time now, and—”

Draco lifted his head to look him in the eye. “Harry,” he said, and caressed Harry’s cheek. “I am incredibly happy. My life is so much better with you in it. I hope this lasts forever.”

“Me too,” Harry sighed out. “Merlin, Draco. Me too.”

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(And they lived happily ever after, the end. :-)

**Author's Note:**

> onetwistedmiracle on Tumblr. come over, say hi :-)


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